Splendor of the Stars
by Moonrose1
Summary: Christine and Kline are back! When members of a cast are being killed off in a production the team is involved in, they can't help but get involved. Who will be next? COMPLETE!!!
1. Fancy Meeting You Here

NEW STORY!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, I'M DOING A NEW STORY! Ahem. Anyway, I got great reviews for my last story, and I've been looking forward to doing this forever! Not much else to say, really, just thank you all for the reviews.

::Suddenly walks on stage in a dress and holding a trophy in the air.

Moonshine: You like me, you really like me!

::Christine and Kline run in and knock Moonshine over.

Kline and Christine: You like us too! I think we deserve the award!

Sorry, I couldn't resist. Everyone is doing it nowadays! So, on with the chapter! Oh, and this story is all in Watson's few, unless directed otherwise. Which won't happen, I almost promise. Oh, and, um, thanks to Someday Sara, for the copy rights for this story! Read her theatre story, it's awesome! Also, for Darker Days, someone criticized my usage of the English language, said it was to old. Let me explain something. This is how I speak. I speak with older English, and, if you ask Goth_Flutist, she'll tell you I also revert to an accent at times. So I'M SORRY for how I speak, all right?

Splendor of the Stars

Chapter One: Fancy Meeting You Here

I ran down the sidewalk as fast as I could. The only sound in the December air was my shoes slamming against the pavement. I had to see Holmes, and immediately.

I rounded the corner and saw his house, the gate swinging open. I dashed past it and slammed open the door.

Charise screamed and clutched a skimpy bathrobe to her even skimpier night clothes. I rolled my eyes and dashed up the narrow stairs to Holmes's bedroom.

He was asleep still, even though it was ten in the morning. I jumped up on the bed and began bouncing.

"Hey Holmes! Get up! Hurry now!" I yelled. Holmes groaned and rolled over. His eyes opened slowly, but then he snapped up and clutched the bedclothes to him.

"Watson! What are you doing here? And don't you know about knocking? I could be naked!" Holmes protested. I stopped and frowned down at him.

"Are you?" I asked. Holmes sighed.

"No. What is your news?" he asked. Holmes dragged himself out of bed and went towards the dresser and began pulling out clothes. I grinned and began hopping around his room.

"Ok, so you know Christine and Kline?" I asked. Holmes pulled out a pair of pants and rolled his eyes.

"Of course I know Christine and Kline. I would be a fool not to," he stated, tossing the offending pants back into the dresser. I sighed.

"Whatever. Ok, so you know that laptop I got from Christine?" I asked again. Holmes glared at me.

"Once again, I say yes. The case is still fresh in my mind. It happened but a few months ago," he replied. I nodded again.

"Well, I got an e-mail this morning from spygurl_ashling@aol.com. You know-" Holmes cut me off.

"Yes, yes. I know quite well. Christine's e-mail address. Continue," he pressed. I cleared my throat.

"So anyway, we've gotten a couple of e-mails from them before, mostly with them arguing with each other over the computer, and so I'm thinking 'no big deal'. Surprise, surprise! I open it, and voila! Behold, the e-mail from Christine and Kline," I announced dramatically. I held out the e-mail I had printed to Holmes. He snatched from my hand and began to read it aloud.

__

Dear Jenny (and Sherlock if you get this to him),

Hmm, it's been a while yes? I knew I should have e-mailed you sooner, but cases and school kept me busy.

****

Sure it did. Excuses, excuses. Can't take the blame, now can you Christine?

Shut it, Kline. Anyway, we have absolutely magnificent news!

****

Depends on what your version of magnificent is, C. You never know, they might view this as a curse.

I SAID, shut it, Kline. AS I WAS SAYING- Kline and I get to come to England! Superb, no?

****

No. Absolutely not. Horrible, devastating news. And how many months do they have to put up with my annoying self and Miss Gloomy here?

Kline, I'm warning you... We'll be staying until March 3, so that should be interesting, with Kline coming along and all.

****

Yeah, and we'll be getting there December 18. Our flight arrives at 10 in the morning. Hey, we'll get to spend the new year with you! Cool, 2002 all the way!

Aye, aye, aye. Yeah. So, we were kinda wondering

****

if we could stay with you for the entire time! Swapping girly stories, and in the morning, I'm making waffles!

You took that from 'Shrek'.

****

I know. I'm good!

Urg. As I was trying to say we are ever so politely asking if we might lodge at your home for... not the entire time, but for most of it. We've never been to London, you never know. Kline might get lost, or something.

****

Hey!

Hey what?

****

You insulted me back there! With the whole 'with Kline coming along and all'! How dare you!

And they call me slow...

****

Hey!

Hey what?!

****

You insulted me again! I would not get lost in London!

I better go, I think Kline needs her medication... the mental pills are wearing off.

****

So, look forward to seeing you December 18th!

Good-bye

****

HEY!!!!

She really is slow...

Christine & **KLINE**

Holmes laughed softly, and put the letter aside and continued rifling through his dresser.

"Cool, huh?" I asked. Holmes shrugged and held up a shirt.

"Does this look all right?" he asked. I nodded.

"And you care... why?" I inquired. Holmes stared at me.

"You do know what day it is, don't you?" he said incredulously. I thought a moment.

"Well, it's Monday, first day off from school, seven days until Christmas... it's December 18th!" I shouted. Holmes laughed.

"Brilliant deduction, Watson. If we ever hope to get to the airport in time, we must leave now," Holmes commented. I thought a moment, then grinned.

"I can driiiiivvvvveeeee!" I squealed, pulling out my keys.

Holmes groaned.

*************************************************************************************************

I stared around the rapidly filling airport and tried desperately to catch a glimpse of a red haired girl, or at least a girl in a wheelchair. I turned to Holmes, who was peering through the crowds.

"Any sign of them yet?" I asked hopefully. Holmes shook his head ruefully and continued to stare past me. I rolled my eyes and turned my eyes towards the area where more passengers were leaving.

I saw three men arguing in fluent German. Definitely not Christine or Kline. They didn't know German. Two old ladies then exited the plane, but they both held knitting needles. And neither Christine or Kline knew how to knit. I waited for another five minutes, praying that they were there. But alas, they weren't. The last people off the plane were two teenage girls who had brownish hair, and had Walkmans firmly over their ears. Definitely not Christine or Kline.

I turned back to Holmes and looked at him sadly.

"Looks like they missed the plane. I don't know where they could be otherwise," I said unhappily. Holmes smiled weakly at me.

"Pity. And I was actually looking forward to their company," he moaned. I twitched my lips at that, and turned back to watch the exit, just in case.

To our ultimate surprise, one of the teenagers who had left the plane last walked over to us. The girl threw her arms around me, and I jumped back.

"Who the heck are you?" I asked angrily. The girl frowned at me.

"Excuse my friends poor manners. I believe what she was trying to say is good morning. May I ask to whom I am speaking?" Holmes said politely. The girl glared at him and tugged at her hair.

"Jeez, can't even recognize your old friend Christine when she hugs you?" the girl announced heatedly. I stared at the girl in surprise, and Holmes's jaw dropped open.

"Christine? Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I'm used to seeing you with red hair!" I exclaimed. Christine ran a hand through her light brown hair and grinned.

"I really wasn't planning on keeping the red in for the rest of my life. Doesn't go well with my complexion," Christine laughed. I held out my arms to her, and pulled her into a hug.

"Great to see you, Christine," I said. Christine's body shook with laughter.

"Just a minute ago it was 'who the heck are you', and now it's 'great to see you'. Make up your mind!" Christine chuckled. I pulled back, and she went over to Holmes and gave him a light peck on the cheek. (A.N. THERE IS NOTHING GOING ON BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM, I PROMISE!) She stared at him for a moment.

"Hard case?" she asked suddenly. I stared at her.

"You knew this how?" I asked. Christine glanced at me, her eyes skimming my hands and wrists. Self conscious, I rubbed my wrists carefully, trying to avoid the cuts and bruises on them.

"Cuts. Bruises. Any fool can see it. Tell me about it later, Kline'll be coming soon," she declared dismissively. Holmes smiled down at her, and his eyes once again peered through the crowd.

"Where is she? How is her wheelchair working out?" he asked quickly. Christine leaned back onto the wall we were standing by.

"It worked out fine. She isn't in it anymore. No doubt she'll wish to tell you the story herself. Quite amusing, actually," Christine added, as an afterthought. Holmes raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. 

We stood there for a while, staring off into space, when finally Kline came running over to us.

"Hey!" she screamed. She dropped the luggage into Christine's arms (who promptly buckled under the weight) and ran forward and gave us both bear hugs.

"Sherlock, Jenny, it's just wonderful to see you again! Oh, we have so much to tell you! I see you got hurt in a case recently. Shame. Hope you didn't land in the hospital. Though Cindy might be happy to see you again, eh Sherlock! Oh, my luggage? It's minimal. Christine insisted on bringing her costume trunk, said she felt something would happen. Plus, she never travels anywhere without it. Oh, shush Christine, you know you don't. And how are you? Fine? That's great. Hey, I'm starving, what's for dinner? Those stupid airplanes give you so little. Hey, listen to this song, I just bought the CD. It's great!" Kline rambled. Holmes stared at her in astonishment and I slowly backed away.

"Ok, someone had a little bit to much sugar," I calmly said. Kline giggled.

"Pixie sticks. Only way to live!" she laughed. Christine rolled her eyes and hefted the luggage into her arms.

"Oh, shut up already Kline. I'm going to get you a muzzle someday, I swear," Christine scolded. Kline grinned and grabbed her purse, leaving Christine to carry the luggage. Then Kline snapped around.

"Whose driving?" she asked suddenly. I raised my hand and grinned. Kline's eyes went wide, and she began humming 'Taps'.

*************************************************************************************************

"Whoa, that was better than The Millennium Force!" Kline screamed. Christine tumbled out of the car, and began kissing the ground.

"Thank you Lord for getting me through that ride without having a heart attack," Christine prayed. She turned to look at me. "Don't they have something called speed limits in London?" 

I glared at her. "Of course, nimrod. I went the speed limit. You are far to dramatic for your own good, you know that?" Christine laughed, and rose shakily to her feet. She stared at my house.

"It's nothing like your one in Michigan," Kline stated matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes.

"The whole divorced thing kinda cuts off the money supply. My mom can only work so much," I snapped. Kline raised her hands, and turned to Holmes, who was struggling with the luggage.

"What does her mom do?" she called over to him. Holmes shrugged.

"Ask her."

"My mom is an astronomer/scientist. Except not. You know? She isn't big or important or anything, she just looks at stars, measures star quakes, and other stuff. She'd like to make it big time, but that won't be happening anytime soon," I reassured them. Christine nodded sullenly. Kline frowned.

"My mom is a cosmetologist for dead guys. Come to think of it, most of my family works with dead bodies. You know, with Blaine and all. And my cousin Jeremy digs holes for dead guys, and Aunt Lerlaine makes tombstones, and my dad is a police officer, part time!" she laughed. Christine and I grinned and began helping Holmes carry luggage into the house.

"My mom writes books. And newspaper articles. Mostly books, though. Fiction, but not famous. They're about a girl who solves mysteries in her home town. Guess where she got the idea. And my dad is a business man for something. The rest of my family I've never formally met, but my grandmother is a kindergarten teacher, and my Uncle Bob drives a school bus. Most of my family is full of school stuff," Christine moaned. I smiled. Holmes squinted at us over the four suitcases he was carrying. 

I led them up to my room, and we dumped the suitcases onto the floor. I looked around my room to make sure it was acceptable.

My room was not elaborate, but it worked. My bed was up against the right wall, and right above the headboard was a round window. From it you could see the warehouses and abandoned buildings two streets down. My bed had purple covers on it, even though purple was my least favorite color. I liked greens myself. My CD player sat on my bedside table, and on top of it was my alarm clock. My closet was directly across the way, on the left side of the room. I had a vanity on the wall next to the end of my bed, which was now covered with theatre makeup and porcelain figures of angels. My room was painted bright green. The blue rug lay on the wooden floor, and I carefully navigated them around the room. My desk sat next to my vanity, and I was also allowed a huge armchair in my room, even though it was broke.

Holmes and I took our customary places on the bed together. After a quick glance around, Kline wound up sitting on the desk, and Christine was curled up in the chair. I slammed my hands together and leaned against Holmes.

"So, what have we been up to?" I asked. Christine waved her hand at Kline, a gesture that meant for her to begin.

"We've been busy," Kline declared. Holmes and I nodded and signaled for her to continue.

"So, after you guys leave, we get this call from a widow. Her house was burned down by some arsonist. So, you know, we're on it for a few days, and guess who did it?" she said. Holmes smiled. He had been unusually quiet so far.

"A fireman." Kline stared at him in amazement.

"How did you know?" she asked, stunned. Christine laughed and shifted in the chair.

"Kline, you're hardly hard to read, after all. The look of surprise on your face kind of gave it away. But Sherlock, how did you know?" Christine asked, directing her question at Holmes. He leaned back, causing me to fall, and pressed his fingertips together.

"A man who studies his crime the hardest is the most likely to make foolish mistakes," he said simply. He smiled down at me, and I grinned at him, gently touching my wrist.

"Ok, that was a no-brainer. Our next case was a lot better. It was a string of robberies of art galleries. We kind of fell into the case, we were near the art museum when it happened, and that was a great case! It turns out the culprits were two 95-year-old women! They would come in, give the guards a cookie laced with some chemical to knock 'em out, and then would steal whatever painting they wanted! Smartly done, if I do say so myself," Kline commented. Christine began laughing loudly. I glanced at her.

"What is wrong with you?" I asked. Christine held up a finger and continued to laugh. She calmed down after a minute or two and cleared her throat.

"We did that case when Kline was still in a wheelchair. You should have seen it! It was classic. So, you know how Kline chases the suspects and all. Well, imagine two ninety-five year-old ladies going down a boardwalk thing, in their automatic wheelchairs at ten miles an hour, with Kline behind them pushing her wheelchair! Oh, it was hilarious! I could run faster than them!" Christine laughed. Kline rolled her eyes.

"Jerk. And our third case was a really creepy one. This girl was murdered-ok, she was thirty-five- by her dead husband!" Kline exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow at that, and Holmes smirked at me.

"I am quite sure that he wasn't truly dead," Holmes reassured me. I smiled at him. Christine nodded from her position in the chair.

"Yeah, her husband wasn't actually dead. He had faked his death earlier that year. Unfortunately, nothing halfway amusing happened then," Christine remarked. Kline grinned.

"I don't know, Christine. When he came in during the night, I wasn't sure I had heard anyone scream as loud as you," Kline sniped. Christine rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't know, I couldn't hear myself over your screams," she shot back. Kline laughed.

"The expression on your face was priceless. Which I had a camera."

"Yeah, so police could figure out what happened to you!"

Holmes cleared his throat softly, and the two bickering friends snapped their attention back at him.

"If you ladies are quite finished...?" Holmes asked. Christine smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry."

"I would be happy to inform you of our cases the past months, if you so desire," Holmes said nonchalantly. Kline nodded eagerly.

"Oh, yeah! Yours are sure to be better than ours," Kline replied. Holmes smiled appreciatively and leaned back on the bed. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers together.

"Very well. Our first case after the Michigan affair, was The Giant Cat of the Sumatra family (A.N. Couldn't resist, sorry!). We are not at privilege to tell you of that, however, as mankind is not ready for such a thing. However, Watson and I were delighted to find out I was allergic to cats during that escapade," Holmes said, stifling a smile.

"He sneezed every time the cat was around," I pointed out, in case they had missed the point. They hadn't.

"Our second case, however, we are free to tell you about. I must say, it was a ridiculous case, and I have never been so insulted in my life. It was a case involving the ghost of a vampire. As Watson and I do not believe in such foolish things, we were both skeptical from the beginning. And we had every right to be. The culprit of the case was a small man, who painted himself white, and wore plastic fangs in his mouth. We threw him in jail for the robbery of multiple superstitious families. Simple, and remarkably imprudent," Holmes finished. I grinned in spite of myself.

"Does sound stupid," Christine remarked finally. Holmes smiled at her.

"But of course. The 'vampires' method of scaring the families was to scream 'Boo!' at them," Holmes said. I cracked up at this. I couldn't help but remember the look of astonishment on Holmes's face when he had first encountered the man. Then when his face had dissolved into laughter, that was the best. Kline frowned suddenly.

"But where did the cuts on your wrists and stuff come from?" she asked. I answered that one.

"During the vampire case, we fell through a stone tunnel. The rocks cut our hands pretty badly. Am I to assume that your cases didn't land you in the hospital?" I asked. Christine shrugged.

"Not really. We cut lots of cuts and bruises after the 'dead' guy collapsed a platform on us. Trust me, wood falling on you hurts, but not enough to send you to the hospital," Christine informed us, showing us some cuts on her shoulders. I turned to Kline and smiled.

"And how is Jason?" I asked. Kline groaned.

"That jerk and I broke up about a week after you guys left. Now I'm dating Alex Russel. He's really sweet," giggled Kline. Christine smiled.

"I agree. He is a much better man than he," she said. Holmes smiled at us, then stood to his feet.

"I'm sorry to say this, but I really must be getting home. Charise and father are going out tonight, and they prefer me home during those times. I will see you in the morning?" he asked. Kline grinned.

"I have a feeling we're going to have a lot of fun while we're here!" she exclaimed.

First chapter, fourth story. Please review!


	2. Auditions

I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I've been really, really sick. Worse than I usually am. I caught the flu, and then my lungs decided to backfire, so I've been having problems breathing. So, I haven't been writing. However! This story actually has been written out before hand! I keep a journal of ideas and summaries, and this story is almost complete in it. Also, I started working on a Harry Potter fan fiction story. If anybody would read it, I'll appreciate it. I have five lousy (actually, they're very nice reviews) so far, and I want more. And finally, to anybody who has tried to e-mail me (*cough, Queen Hotaru*) I'm sorry, my e-mail hasn't been working. I'm getting a new one, so joy. I'll tell it to you people later, k? Oh, and I changed my Authors name. To many people were raising an eyebrow at it, so... it's Moonrose from now on.

Ummm... ok, one more thing. My dearest friend Goth_Flutist pointed out that Kline acted like a ditz. Kline isn't. That conversation letter they sent was staged. Me and her do it all the time when e-mailing my crush, so I just added it into the story. I forgot to write that in, sorry.

Chapter Two: Auditions

"I'm BORED," Kline screamed. I raised an eyebrow at her, and laughed quietly. Christine looked up from her book and rolled her eyes.

"Aren't you the one who said that we'd be having the time of our lives here?" she asked quietly. Kline laughed.

"Christine, I can only beat you so many times at chess. You really suck at that, you know?" she teased. Her friend smiled and returned to her book. Holmes stared at her.

"If you are truly bored, then why not play me at chess?" he asked her. Kline laughed again.

"No way, Jose. You slaughtered Jenny. You think I'm going to play you?" she asked. I glared at her.

"Excuse me? He did not 'slaughter' me," I protested. This time Holmes laughed.

"I had you in check mate after four moves. That is 'slaughter'," he laughed. I flopped down in a chair huffily.

"Fine, whatever. You two are deluding yourselves. Everyone knows Christine and I are the real champions," I announced. Christine looked up from her book again.

"Hey, don't get me involved in this conversation," she droned.

Both Kline and Christine had been in London for about six days now. We had done almost everything that they had even the mildest interest in. We had gone to see a play, eaten out, gone to Madam Touselli's Wax thingamabob-whatever- and just for a laugh, we went to the Sherlock Holmes Museum. We had bought our Christmas presents for each other, watched TV, read the newspaper a zillion times, bugged Scotland Yard, done more experiments imaginable with Holmes's chemistry set, fenced (Christine and Holmes champions) and played chess to many times to count (Kline and Holmes champions). Kline was right. We were bored.

We were hanging out in my basement at the moment. Kline was busy fiddling with her flute, while Holmes scanned the newspaper. Christine reading 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban' for the fiftieth time in a row (she liked Professor Lupin), and I was typing on my laptop.

"So, Sherlock, anything good in the newspaper? Anyone been brutally murdered, and Scotland Yard is stumped? I'll take petty theft! Just give me something to do!" Kline yelled. I rolled my eyes at her statement. Next thing I knew she was peering over my shoulder.

"Interesting... interesting... uh, you forgot a comma there. Ok, better now. Ewww, did that really happen?" she asked. I shoved her away angrily.

"Kline, I'm trying to type here. Go bug Christine. Trick her into playing a game with you," I muttered. I was writing about my first adventure with Holmes, and really didn't want to be disturbed. Kline glared at me, and then sat down next to Christine.

" 'Bang! Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of Snape's wand and twisted themselves around Lupin's mouth, wrists, and ankles; he overbalanced and fell to the floor, unable to move. With a roar of rage, Black-' hey, I was reading that!" Kline protested as Christine drew the book to her chest defensively.

"Excuse me, but I'm reading Kline. I need my fix," she said. Christine then smiled stupidly as her eyes glazed over. Holmes laughed.

"Christine, addicted to something? Never thought I'd see that coming," Holmes chuckled. Kline moved away from Christine as she continued to stare off in to space.

"Obsessed with Lupin, I swear... Sherlock, are you done with that?" she asked, pointing to a discarded portion of the newspaper. Holmes nodded absently as Kline scooped it up.

"Cool, theatre section. Hmmm... new play out-boring. Come see Hamlet-boring. Hey, what about this?" Kline said suddenly. Christine snapped out of her reverie as Holmes and I looked at Kline curiously. She stood up and began to read the article.

" 'Calling all musicians, dancers, actors/actresses, and stage hands. Auditions for 'Holmes the Musical' and 'The Nutcracker' will be taking place on December 24th, 2001. We will be pleased to accept everyone, and look forward to seeing the talent brought before us. Musicians will be expected to play the pieces handed out, and should be able to play both for both theatre performances. Actors/Actresses must be able to sing. See below for listed parts.' It goes on from there, but do you want to go? We all reasonably good at our instruments, right?" Kline asked. Holmes nodded, and I bobbed my head accordingly. Christine shrugged.

"I don't know. I could try out for an acting position, though. Let me see the list," Christine asked. Kline tossed the newspaper at her. Christine scanned the paper quickly, then handed it back to her.

"Ok, why not? So... who's driving?" Christine asked. I grinned happily.

"I will."

Christine began to sob into her hands.

*************************************************************************************************

"Wow, this place is big," Kline muttered. Her hands wrapped tighter around her flute as she stared upward at the ceiling, which depicted angels flying. Christine looked up, nodded, and then began looking around.

"So where do we go? Who goes where?" she asked. I shrugged.

"Holmes?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure. According to the newspaper, the violins hold their auditions in the basement, clarinets in the auditioning room, flutes in the costume area, and actresses on stage. As for where each area is..." Holmes trailed off. We stood there for a little while, just looking around, when we heard-

"Hey, are you here for the auditions?" a male voice said suddenly. Kline and Christine both whipped around and stared at the boy. He laughed at their reactions.

"I'm not going to hurt you, jeez. So, are you here for the auditions?" the boy asked again. Holmes nodded.

"Yes, we are, but we are not sure where to go," he told the boy. The boy nodded happily.

"So, flute, violin, clarinet and..." he trailed off and pointed to Christine. She smiled.

"Actress, for the role of Cricket," she said quietly. The boy raised his eyebrow in askance, but then nodded again.

"Ok, flutes go that way, violins go that way, clarinets go forward, and you can follow me," he said, directing us all, pointing in different directions. He grabbed Christine's wrist (she slapped him away) and then led her away. Kline disappeared almost instantly, leaving me alone with Holmes.

"Well. Good luck, and all," I said softly. Holmes smiled at me and pecked me on the cheek.

"You'll do fine, don't worry about it. You'll make the top ten chairs, I promise. You're really good," he said earnestly. I laughed.

"Please, Holmes. I'll be very lucky if I make the top ten. You will, of course. Anybody could see that. So, what do you know about that boy?" I asked. Holmes frowned slightly.

"Very little, actually. His name is Todd Ceiland. He is 16, just like us, and goes to a private school. He's an actor, and is trying out for the role of Wiggins," Holmes told me. Then he glared again.

"What, worried they're going to ruin your ancestors name or something?" I teased. Holmes smiled at me.

"Of course. This is one of the better ones, actually. Problem is, it's a musical. And I know for a fact that the original Sherlock Holmes only sang when in one of his roles," laughed Holmes. I grinned.

"Well, was he any good?"

"But of course. We must go, we're all ready going to be very, very late."

I nodded at Holmes and we separated, him going down the stairs to the basement, and I going down a long hallway to what I assumed was the audition room.

When I entered the room, the first thing that struck me was how unbelievably white it was. It hurt my eyes just to look at the wall. The second thing that hit me was how little clarinets there were. Most of them were hardly older than me, other than four older women, one who was in her late sixties or so. I sat down in a white chair and put together my clarinet, blowing into it and running a few scales. The older woman heard me and walked over.

"Hello, miss. I'm Claudia Walper. Who are you?" she asked. She had a very distinct Russian accent, and I smiled up at the woman.

"Jennifer Watson. It's nice to meet you. Have you already auditioned?" I asked. Claudia sat down next to me.

"No. The clarinets haven't even begun yet. They have to get through the oboes before they begin us."

"Why are most of the people here my age?"

"Oh, with all the other, bigger plays going on, you cannot expect the better musicians to come. So we're stuck with amateurs, or younger players. No offense to you, of course. I'm sure you're quite good. Maybe we'll be stand partners."

"How long have you been playing?"

"Um, since I was ten. I'm sixty eight right now, so I would say I've been playing a while. You?"

"I've been playing since I was three. I'm sixteen. I'm not really going to say that I'm very good, I don't like to boast."

"Smart girl. Oh, look, here comes some lady. Maybe she's going to audition us now."

Indeed, a woman dressed all in lime green had entered the room. She was... colorful. Her hair was dyed purple, and she had emerald colored eyes, obviously from contacts. Her nose was pierced about three times, and she had nose rings in. Her ears were pierced all the way up, and you could see a belly button piercing also.

"My name," she drawled in a voice that could break glass, "is Sallay Jargin. I'm the musical director, and you people have the ultimate pleasure of having me as your main audition board.

"You will all get in, of course. There are only eleven of you, and we can't waste anybody.

"You will be given a number, and when we call it out, you are to enter the room and sit in the chair that we direct you to sit in. Then we will set a piece in front of you. You will play select measures for us, and then we will dismiss you. When we are all done, we'll come back out here and tell you your chair. Understand?" Miss Jargin snapped. The entire room mumbled it's answer. Jargin smiled unpleasantly, and then began handing numbers out.

She stopped in front of me and glared as she handed me a number. As she moved away, I stared after her. 

__

Ok, she is officially creepy. And she will not be fun to work with, I thought to myself. I glanced at my number. Five. Wonderful. 

Claudia came over and sat next to me again.

"What number you got? I'm four."

"Five. Does that lady seem weird to you?" I asked. Claudia shrugged.

"Most theater people are, Jenny. She just has a bad outlook on life, is all."

The auditions for the first four people went smoothly. Claudia looked happy when she came out, so I would have guessed she did pretty well. Finally, it was my turn.

Miss Jargin called my number, and I rose unsteadily to my feet. I entered the tiny closet area and looked around.

It too was painted white. Everything in their was white, including the clothes of the people auditioning me. The only contrast of the room was Miss Jargin herself, and the silver chair in the middle of the room. The stand was white!

Miss Jargin pointed me to the chair, and I sat in it.

"Name?" she asked impolitely. I bit back the fear that was threatening to come out of my mouth in the form of my lunch and smiled at Miss Jargin.

"Jennifer Watson."

"Age?"

"Sixteen."

"How long have you been playing?"

"Thirteen years."

"That'll do. Please play measures ten through twenty two on this piece please," Miss Jargin asked. She set the music in front of me, and I stared at it. It was called 'Prologue'. Not a very original title.

I played through the measures quickly enough, and then looked up at Miss Jargin and the other panelists. They were nodding slightly, and even Jargin herself had lost some of the nasty look on her face.

__

Oh good. They don't hate me right off the bat.

"Now play this, measures fifty two through one hundred," Jargin recited. I was once again handed a piece. This one was called 'Something Here'. Apparently, in the play Lestrade and Gregson sang it.

I played through that with a little more difficulty. The measures were much different, and their was even a few notes I didn't know. But when I finished, Jargin was smiling.

"Excellent. Go sit outside, please." Jargin commanded. I nodded fearfully and went out of the room. Claudia waved me over to a seat in the corner, and I went gratefully over to it.

"Well? How'd you do?" Claudia asked. I shrugged.

"All right, I guess. The Prologue was all right, kinda easy, though. I would assume the violins have the main part. Something Here I didn't do as well on. I didn't know some of the notes," I told her. When I mentioned the violins, she had studied my expression a great deal more.

"Do you like violins?" she asked. Surprised, I shrugged again.

"I think they're cool. My, er, boyfriend is a violin player. He's really, really good. I wouldn't be surprised in the least if he got first chair."

Claudia smiled at me, and we began talking about other things. Claudia had married when she was twenty five, but her husband had been killed in a plane accident many, many years ago. She had twin daughters, who both lived in Russia, although they wanted to live in China. They hadn't gotten around to moving yet. She was, all in all, a very interesting woman.

Finally, after an hour or so, Jargin came out again, this time with another man who hadn't been in the room before. He had blonde hair, hazel eyes, and very, very tan skin. He wore white clothes, like most of the people around there, and he was grinning happily. Jargin cleared her throat.

"I would like to introduce to you Mr. John Goodmena, the director of the show. He has met all the other musicians already, and the actors, so you are last on the list. When we announce your name and chair, please stand up so he may know who you are.

"First chair... Claudia Walper."

Claudia stood and grinned at me, very happy. My smile came out strained, even though I was happy for her. I was actually scared, and didn't want to know my chair position. I held my breath when Jargin opened her mouth again.

"Second chair... Jennifer Watson."

I felt my blood rush to my head as I stood up. I was shocked, amazed, confused, afraid, worried, and finally, proud. Goodmena smiled at me when I stood, and Claudia hugged me.

"Third chair... Angelina DeAngelo."

Another girl across the room stood up. Her eyes were amazingly icy, and she didn't look happy. I zoned out the rest of the chairs, as Claudia and I talked happily among ourselves. Eventually, Jargin cut in.

"You may go now. Be back here two days after Christmas, and bring much of your clothes and materials. You will be staying in a hotel for the run of the show. Leave!" barked Jargin. I scurried out of the room as fast as I could go, and when I got back to the reception area, I saw Kline, Holmes, and Christine standing there. I ran over to them.

"Second chair!" I squealed. Holmes winced as my voice screeched and echoed in the airy area. I looked at him.

"Holmes?"

"First chair."

"Of course. I don't know why I expected otherwise," I commented laughingly. Holmes smiled at me and kissed me on the cheek.

"Nice job, Watson."

"Thanks, Holmes. Kline, what did you get?"

Kline rose from her seat and scowled at me.

"Third chair! The gall of those people! Don't they recognize talent when they see it?" she mocked. Holmes laughed.

"How much longer are we going to have to hear from you?" he asked. Kline shrugged.

"The run of the show, I suppose. Now Christine, tell Jenny what you got," Kline said eagerly. Christine rose from her spot on the wall and sighed.

"I got the role," she said mundanely. I shrieked, and Holmes winced again.

"That's great, Chris!" I yelped. She raised an eyebrow.

"Chris? Since when have you called me Chris?" she asked. I laughed.

"Come on, you have to have a nickname. Holmes, Watson/Jenny, Kline. You don't see me waltzing around calling Holmes Sherlock, or Kline Amanda. You need a nickname. Christine is too long," I told her. Christine sighed.

"My name is fine. It means 'Anointed One', or 'Chosen by the Lord'. Chris is a guys name. Call me Christine. Why are we arguing about names? What are you on?" Christine demanded suddenly. I giggled.

"Adrenaline. And pop. Lots and lots of pop. Don't give me Coke before I audition, let me tell you. What did they have you guys audition on?" I asked. Holmes thought a minute.

"I played a piece called 'London in Flames' and 'Nothing More'. The only hard part was to do two scales in one measure. That is very hard. I didn't like Nothing More very much. It has Sherlock Holmes singing of a lost love, and his lost love singing about him, and about how they've moved on. Disgusting," Holmes spat. Kline grinned.

"Poor Sherlock. I played 'Epilogue' and 'I Used to Know'. I don't think you'd like I Used to Know very much, Sherlock. It is about Holmes's lost love singing about how jerkish he is," she laughed. Holmes scowled and flopped down in a nearby chair. I turned to Christine.

"I had to sing 'Crickets Prayer' and 'Crickets Prayer Reprise'. Oh, it's so sad. In Crickets Prayer Reprise Holmes's lost love ends up dying by Moriarty's hand. I've heard this entire musical before (A/N- Love it! Go to the website, www.holmesthemusical.com and check it out!), and I really liked it. It always made me cry," Christine announced. Holmes snorted from his seat, but we all ignored him.

"I played 'Prologue' and 'Something Here'. Gregson and Lestrade sing it. But I don't know the lyrics very well, actually, I don't know them at all, so I can't tell you what it's about. Come on, let's go home. In twelve minutes, it's Christmas, and I want to open presents." I lead our troop out the door, with Christine humming sections of the musical under her breath, Kline doing little jumps and skips, and Holmes scowling the entire way.

Ok, done. Oh, and I got my new e-mail address. It's 

kep05@hotmail.com

Nothing fancy. Please review, and tell me what you think of this. And read my Harry Potter story, please! I'm really desperate now. Oh, and Queen Hotaru? I'm trying to read your story, I really am, but my mum keeps kicking me off the computer before I can get to it. Sorry.


	3. Rules of the Game

Cool, I'm actually on my THIRD chapter! No big deal, right? Wrongo! I have nearly passed out two times from stress recently, mostly from the ACT's coming up (I'm in eighth grade, people!) and the MEAPS. And Solo and Ensemble, and Festival, and a couple of extra gigs with the Quintet I play with. And, we got our report cards back today (straight A's, a B+ in math). Oh, and I'm working on two other stories at the same time (Outcast, an original story, and The Moon Wolf, a HP story [read 'em people!]).

Chapter Three: Rules of the Game

Christmas came and went for me and the gang. Needless to say, we were all quite pleased with the gifts we received.

Holmes had gotten an epee (a sword of some sort) from Christine, another Sherlock Holmes book from Kline (This time it was 'The Jewel of Covent Garden') and a bunch of junk that forensic scientists use to track down criminals from me (cost me a bundle!). I had been given a music book for flutes from Christine, a whole bunch of hair junk from Kline, and Holmes had gone with his classic standby- jewelry from a member of the family. This time it was a diamond bracelet. And before we knew, it was time for us to meet back at the theatre.

Christine sat next to me in the car, fiddling with the sapphire bracelet Kline had given her. She was staring out the window of the car, and seemed to be muttering fervent prayers under her breath. Kline and Holmes were arguing in the back.

"What, just because you might be the tiniest bit insulted, you can't get simple enjoyment out of these?!" Kline exclaimed, gesturing towards the books she had given Holmes. Holmes rolled his eyes.

"Kline, as much as I love to read all the blasphemy about my ancestor, I didn't think that actually participating in it would make me feel better," Holmes snapped back. Kline glared at him.

"Wuss. You're just going to be playing some songs. Yell at Christine, she will be blaspheming it even worse!" Kline shot at him. Christine whipped around.

"Excuse me? Cricket is hardly involved with Holmes. She is the street orphan who works with Elizabeth," Christine said somewhat calmly. I frowned from my spot in the car, concentrating on not running into the car in front of me.

"Who is Elizabeth?" I asked gamely. Christine smiled grimily.

"Oh, Holmes is going to love this. Her name is Elizabeth Adler, according to the little summary I have. Want me to read it?" asked Christine. Holmes sighed, but nodded from the back. He folded his arms and closed his eyes as Christine yanked it out from the CD case.

" 'Twilight falls in the great city of London. It is late fall 1887, and as the cold fingers of winter begin to tighten around the shrouded city, a chill is spreading through her gas lit streets (Prologue). The underworld is emerging from the shadows, emboldened by an unseen and omnipotent force. The people are living in terror- and the police are powerless to stop it (Lamplighter). As the song ends, Nigel Adler and two friends emerge from a pub. Nigel goes back to retrieve his hat, is approached by three men, and is suddenly and ferociously beaten and kidnapped. The next morning, Inspectors Gregson and Lestrade are at the scene of the kidnapping. They are, as always, at odds, forming competing theories of what happened (Something Here). Gregson feels the discarded hat will be of some importance, and decides to take it to Sherlock Holmes. Meantime, the henchman who led the kidnapping has reported back to his employer, Professor Moriarty- who has the man summarily executed to erase the trail, dismissing it as 'simply business' (Life is Hard). Gregson calls on Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Holmes is in a disputatious humor, and is ready for a fresh problem. As they discuss the particulars, Mrs. Hudson enters to announce a visitor for Holmes, who turns out to be the distraught sister of the missing Nigel- Elizabeth Adler. Holmes seems profoundly affected upon seeing her. When Elizabeth tells them that Nigel works for the Foreign Office, Holmes suspects deeper waters. After Elizabeth leaves, she stops in the street, equally shaken by her visit. Holmes comes to the window to watch her, and each reflects on the past between them (Nothing More). Elizabeth meets a young street orphan (Cricket), who knows Sherlock Holmes and his Baker Street Irregulars. Elizabeth befriends Cricket in her gentle way, and when Elizabeth leaves, Cricket wonders if she can trust her (But She's Nice). Watson presses Holmes for details about Elizabeth, and Holmes reluctantly reveals that she is the first and only woman he had considered spending his life with, but chose his calling over his heart years ago. Holmes expands on his theory about the kidnapping, and enlists the help of the BSI (To Be Like You). Meanwhile, Moriarty has had Elizabeth followed, and relishes the thought of confronting his mortal enemy (Revelation). Holmes has instructed Watson to bring Elizabeth to the scene of the crime. As they walk, Watson and Elizabeth reflect on their individual perspectives of Holmes (Extraordinary Man). Once at the scene, Holmes brilliantly collapses Lestrade's theory and offers his own. As the policemen head off, Watson suggests that he, Holmes, and Elizabeth have dinner. Holmes has no time for them, and departs brusquely. Elizabeth faces the reality that there is nothing left between the (Extraordinary Man Reprise). Back at Baker Street, Holmes wonders why he cannot allow himself to have feelings even once (Once in My Life). Later that night, Cricket finds Nigel at the waterfront, injured but alive. Holmes finds bruises upon his arms, and a needle mark. He asks Watson to draw blood so he can test it. After a sleepless night at his chemicals, Holmes awakens Watson and explains his theory: Moriarty is kidnapping government employees, extracting blackmailable secrets, and injecting them with a serum that erases their memory of the experience. Holmes tells Watson to learn everything he can about foreign policy. When Watson asks why, the reply is simple: 'We are going to be kidnapped'. (Act I Finale)," Christine paused. After a deep breath and an apologetic look, she continued. 

(A/N- This is the real thing, so I'm sorry it's really long. It's gotta be in here though. Imagine how it is to type it!)

"Act II opens at the Boar's Crown Pub, full of London's seedier crowd (Bottoms Up!). During the song, Holmes and Watson enter in disguise. When Holmes quarrels with a local thug, Watson inadvertently gives away their identities. They are mercilessly overpowered and taken to Moriarty. Cricket, however, has followed them and sees what happens. At Moriarty's abandoned factory, Holmes is injected with a lethal dose of the serum, and just as they are about to inject Watson, the police burst in, led there by Cricket. Moriarty and his henchmen escape, but just barely. Holmes is taken back to Baker Street, where the Doctor who was under Moriarty's control now completes the antidote Homes had started. Cricket wants to help the other Irregulars, but they want nothing to do with her, until Wiggins intervenes (They Could Be Kind). Elizabeth is alone with Holmes as he recovers. Elizabeth asks if this life is the reason he left her long ago, and he admits that it is. She shows him the locket he had given her, when he promised she would 'always have his heart', and angrily tells him he should have given her more credit (I Used To Know). Frustrated, she leaves, saying she will get a police escort home. In the bowels of the city, Moriarty is informed that his legions are getting out of control, looting and burning indiscriminately. When his henchman Benjamin informs him that some of his gang think he's obsessed with Sherlock Holmes, and is going soft, Moriarty snaps- nearly killing Benjamin in his outrage, and exploding through the powerful dual-location song with Holmes (One Man), each committing himself to the other's destruction. Elizabeth's 'police escort' turns out to be in Moriarty's employ, and she is kidnapped and brought to Moriarty. Cricket, who has been following her, tries to help, but is also captured ("Brilliant Cricket" "Kline!") Moriarty sends Cricket to find Holmes. Elizabeth asks her to give Holmes the locket, but Moriarty takes it from her. Cricket finds Holmes and Watson in the streets, and when Holmes hears that Moriarty has Elizabeth, his rage is barely controllable. As he and Watson rush to find Moriarty, Cricket says a prayer that her friend will be all right (Cricket's Prayer), while Moriarty's legions ravage the city (London in Flames). At long last, the forces of good and evil meet in the abandoned factory. Lestrade and Nigel are wounded in the fierce fighting, but Moriarty's men are overcome. Moriarty himself escapes by climbing to a catwalk above the factory floor, with Holmes at his heels. On the catwalk, with a storm raging outside the window behind them, the two come fact to face in one explosive final confrontation, each man at the height of his powers and his fury. From the edge of your seat to the touching final scene (Cricket's Prayer Reprise), HOLMES! will take our breath away and not give it back until the curtain falls. Now... it begins," Christine finished. 

She tossed the pamphlet into the backseat towards Holmes and leaned back in her seat. Holmes sighed.

"Well, it's better than some that I've heard about," he grumped. I laughed and hit the accelerator, Christine clutching at the door, and Kline and Holmes groaning a bit.

******************************************************************************************

"Hey, it's that boy!" Kline exclaimed upon reaching the theater. Holmes smiled.

"Ah, yes. His name is-"

"Todd. Anybody could figure that out," scoffed Kline. I frowned.

"I didn't," I muttered somewhat self consciously. Christine smiled and patted me on the back.

"No big deal. Not everyone can do it."

"Did you?"

"Well, yeah. But it's Kline and me's job to know."

"Grammar."

"Shut it, will you?"

"I don't think I will."

"I'll smack you."

"Ooo, I'm trembling in my shoes."

"You want Sherlock to know about Marcus?"

"Shutting up now."

Christine grinned at me and jogged ahead to catch up with Kline, who was talking happily to Todd. Holmes looked at me.

"And who is Marcus?" he asked innocently. I blushed a bit.

"Oh, Marcus is.. a guy," I finished lamely. Holmes laughed.

"I knew that. Even you could figure that out. Why did Christine just blackmail you with him?" Holmes persisted. The blush grew as I remembered him.

"Well, at Christine's tenth birthday party, someone she had invited, namely Rachel, wanted to play Spin the Bottle. She had a couple of her guy friends over too, and they seemed willing. I joined the game, and uh... the bottle landed on Marcus Edwards. Well, I kinda had braces then, and so did he. When we kissed, our braces got... stuck. We had to go to the hospital to get them unhooked. Kline announced it as the longest kiss in history, five hours and ten minutes," I mumbled. Holmes tried (unsuccessfully, might I add) not to laugh.

"Well, that isn't so bad. Who did Kline and Christine end up kissing?" Holmes asked eagerly. I grinned at that memory.

"Kline had to kiss her good friend, Rual Morris. And Christine kissed her worst enemy who just so happened to be there, Shamie Femiah. That's his nickname anyway," I paused to think, "I don't actually know his real name." Holmes smiled.

"Well, that must have been interesting."

"You have no idea. Hey, look. Christine looks like she's ready to kill."

And I was right, too. Christine had turned bright red, and she was clenching her hands into fists. Todd was talking to her, and he must have said something really bad, because the next thing that happened was that Kline was holding Christine back. Holmes and I exchanged glances and ran over to help Kline, who looked stricken at her friend's behavior.

"Take it back!" Christine screamed. Todd seemed quite amused.

"No way, José. They're stupid, they really are," Todd announced. Christine lunged at him again, but Holmes carefully shoved him aside.

"I'm sorry, Todd. My friend here hasn't taken her medication yet," Holmes said politely. Trying to maneuver herself around the blockade that stood in front of her, Christine lunged forward again.

"I DON'T take medication!" she yelped. Holmes smiled at Todd and stood in front of Christine as Kline and I shuffled her away from Todd. Todd laughed at us, and went inside the building. Christine struggled to get at him, but Kline and I managed to hold her back.

"Whoa! Down girl, down!" Kline yelled. Christine stopped struggling and glared in the direction Todd went. She carefully smoothed her hair and then turned to us calmly.

"Well, inside, shall we?"

"What the heck happened?" I whispered to Kline. Kline snickered.

"Ah, the joys of having a friend who has obsessions. Todd insulted the original Sherlock Holmes stories in front of her. She went ballistic. Though," Kline mused, suddenly sobered, "it would have been interesting to see her attack Todd. I wonder how'd she kill him. She isn't exactly strong."

"I heard that," Christine called back at us. She was talking to Holmes. I blushed a bit to be heard talking about my friend, but then turned to Kline again.

"Interesting. Then again, I would have pounced on him also," I decided. Kline grinned.

"Sherlockian."

"Well, yeah."

"Only cause you're dating the descendant, I bet."

"Give me credit. And we're not dating."

"Um-hm. Suuurrrrreeeee you're not. Then why does he kiss you so often?"

"Why does Christine kiss him so often?"

"Touche! All though, that was more an insult towards Christine than me."

"Heard that too," Christine shouted at us. I smiled in her direction, and continued to argue with Kline.

"I'm sure you'd like Sherlock Holmes if you dated him. And I'm not dating him. But I read the books before I met him," I reminded her. Kline rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but only because Ms. Klisa made you. Said something about 'knowing your origin'."

"Isn't that the day you got angry at Kelsey and put her in the garbage can?"

"No, that was the day I got angry at Christine and put her in the garbage can."

"Bully."

"Strong," Kline corrected. I laughed.

"Yeah, lifting two 98-pound girls makes you strong. I could lift them!"

"No you couldn't. And I'll have you know, they were 100-pounds by then. At least Christine was."

"Eighth grade, right?"

"Yeah."

We were directed into the auditorium and took our seats, me sitting next to Holmes and Kline, and Kline sitting next to Christine. Holmes noted with some amusement, that Todd had chosen the seat next to Christine. We could see, as the lights went down, her teeth bared and ready to bite the poor guy. However, a man coming on stage stopped her from decapitating him. 

The man was tall, I noticed right away. He was holding a Chihuahua by his side, and a hairless cat in his arms. He had brown hair and, from the glare of the stage lights, it looked like gray eyes. He was wearing a bright pink shirt, and purple pinstriped pants. I heard Kline giggle as he came on, and I saw Holmes raise an eyebrow. He turned on the microphone, and smiled at the somewhat miniscule audience.

"Hi! My name is Victor Joecano, and I'm the producer of both of the shows that will be running during this time. My dogs name is Tiny, and my cats name is Rex. They'll be around a lot, so please don't step on them. We're very proud to have you all here, and you're very privileged to be here. Only so many people can be taken for actors and dancers, while we take as many musicians as we can get. I'll be introducing the staff, if they could please come on?"

A long file of people came onto the stage. They ranged from bright and colorful, like the musical director Sallay, and drab and dreary, like the woman at the other end of the line who wore all brown, except for a pair of toe shoes. Victor cleared his throat.

"First of all, you all should know John Goodmena by now. He is directing Holmes!, and is happy to be here."

Goodmena stepped forward and smiled cheerfully at the crowd, who mumbled in response. Victor grinned.

"Next to him we have Sallay Jargin, the musical director for both productions, Holmes! and The Nutcracker. She directs the singing and the instruments, so you'll see her running around a lot."

Sallay scowled at the audience. You could get the feeling that she really didn't want to be there. Victor smiled happily at her, and turned to another man.

"This is Robert 'Bubba' Erickson. He is the seamstress for both, and he works in the basement. If you need a costume repaired and such, go down to him and ask. Trust me, as mean as he looks, he is a very nice man."

A large, large African American stepped forward on this. He smiled at the audience, but it wasn't the conceited smile of Goodmena, or the glare of Jargin. His was genuine, and the crowd clapped for him. I clapped along. He seemed to be really nice. Victor continued.

"Now we have Denise Leonard. She is the stage and prop manager. We lovingly call her 'The Prop Nazi', but only if you touch the props will you get killed."

A petite woman came forward. She certainly didn't look like a Nazi. In fact, she seemed rather shy of the large place. She smiled weakly at us, and then hurried back into line. Victor grinned again, and then pointed at the last woman in line, the drab one who was wearing brown.

"And this," Victor paused for effect. "Is our esteemed choreographer, Jacquelyn LeSalle, usually referred to as Jackie. She does both productions, as most of these people do."

The drab lady looked out at the audience. She was obviously Indian in origin. She had brown hair, so she had to be Anglo Saxon also. She was quite boring looking, actually. She had brown hair, brown eyes, brown clothes. And her eyes kept darting across the stage, as though looking for a way out. Victor smiled one more time, which was very annoying, surprisingly enough.

"Now, the rules. The reason we had you bring the suitcases of your stuff is because you have to stay at a hotel the entire production. You will not be staying at home. The Grand Plaza Hotel is happy to have people in its corridors at all times. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but this is how it must be.

"Second, you can only be late to rehearsals five times before you are kicked out.

"Third. Listen to us. We know what we're doing.

"Fourth. Anybody 18 and below will have schooling from private tutors.

"Fifth. There is no fifth.

"I'm also the director for The Nutcracker. Now, to rehearsal. If the dancers could go with Jackie, the actors and actresses with John, and the musicians with Sallay. Actors, you will be called down periodically by Bubba, who will want to measure you. Go!"

I jumped to my feet and followed Holmes as quick as I could down to the pit. We had brought our instruments, just in case, and were happy now that we had. Only problem was that we had to lug our suitcases with us. I was relieved to see that others had to also. I watched Christine disappear into the crowd, only to reappear on the stage, closely followed by Todd. She didn't look happy about that. Sallay stood on the stage and glared at them, and then jumped into the pit.

She was wearing a lime green tank top and a purple miniskirt that matched her hair. She wore knee high boots that looked quite painful.

"All right. Lets get to work. You know where the sections are. Work out what chair you are and such, and then we'll warm up," Jargin snapped at us. I scrambled from Holmes's side and found Claudia quickly enough. She smiled at me and moved her chair over a bit to accommodate me. I flopped down and pieced my clarinet together. After a minute, the orchestra was settled, and Jargin stood in front of us, an extremely dangerous looking baton in her hand.

"C sharp concert scale. Now!"

*************************************************************************************************

"She is a devil!" I snapped. Holmes, Christine, Kline and I were sharing a taxi to the hotel we had to stay at after five hours of rehearsal.

"You'd think," I continued, "that the show was going up tomorrow. Right guys?"

Kline nodded vigorously, and Holmes shrugged.

"Some people are a bit more nervous than others. She just feels that we won't be ready in time for the opening night," Holmes explained gently. I rolled my eyes, but looked at Christine.

"What about you? How is Goodmena? Is he a slave driver also?" I asked, quite curious. Christine laughed.

"Goodmena left halfway through the read through. We were left with Bubba. He's really nice, you know? He seemed to know what he was doing when it came to directing. He told us what to do, how to say things, stuff like that. And he measured us. I already have a costume prepared," Christine announced happily. Holmes frowned in the darkness.

"How do you already have a costume prepared?"

"Oh, I am small enough to fit in the old one that they had. It is pretty gross looking, actually. The shirt and stockings are both ivory in color, while her jumper/skirt thingie is tan. And it is really wrinkled. Then again, I'm a street urchin. I'll take what I can get," Christine mused. Holmes and Kline laughed at this announcement, and then I looked out the window.

"Hey you guys. We're here."

We exited the cramped taxi and went into the Grand Plaza Hotel. And let me tell you, huge is an understatement. The stairs were beautiful, with gold railings and a rug rolling down it. The reception room... the entire place looked like a mansion.

Holmes and I approached the desk while Kline and Christine ogled at the sights. The woman looked at us expectantly.

"Name?"

"Holmes, Watson, Kline, Penninger," Holmes told her. The lady typed into the computer, and then tossed me the four different keys.

"Holmes, 221. Watson, 238. Kline, 218. Penninger, 211. Next!"

I tossed Holmes his key, but he scowled at it.

"What?"

"221. What are the chances that the director saw my name and decided to be cute and give me the room of my 'ancestor'?" Holmes asked.

"One in a million," I answered. 

"It was a rhetorical question, Watson."

"I know."

I gave Kline and Christine their keys, and they seemed quite amused about the whole 221 thing. We jumped in the elevator, and rode it up. 

We disappeared into our respective rooms, and were quickly dreaming happy thoughts.

Who knew that the happy thoughts would disappear so quickly?

Done! I'm good, oh yeah! Yes, I'm in a better mood now. Not so grumpy, now just hyper. I figured out how to rotate the writing. I'll write SH first, then HP, then my OS. OS means original story, by the way. So, heaven knows when the next chapter of this will be up. If you really want to know, read my other stories and keep tabs on the updates of each, and then you'll have a somewhat good idea. I have 4 chapters in HP so far, and one in OS. Please read them! I will really appreciate it, and I won't feel so bad about it. Oh, and Queen Hotaru? Read your story. Tis good, tis quite good! 

Thanks to Someday Sara for this chapter. I was just going to stop for a while, and then I read her fourth chapter of Picture Perfect, and it cracked me up. I wouldn't have written more if I hadn't of laughed a bit. So thank her, people!

I own nothing. Holmes! the Musical belongs to Brett Nicholson and Hans Vollrath. Visit www.holmesthemusical.com for more info on it. Please don't tell them about this story though. I could get majorly sued!


	4. Murder

Ah, the brand new chapter... nice, huh? That means I finally finished the next chapter of my other stories, so plllllllleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaasssssssssseeeeeeeeeee read them! Please? Purdy please? My teacher is reading them for heaven sakes! I like her, it is just somewhat odd to have your teacher reading them. She's my favorite teacher, actually.... anyway. Here's the next chapter, read and enjoy, and read my other stories. Thanx!

Chapter Four: Murder

"Watson? Watson, we must get to rehearsal. Watson? Aren't you awake yet?" said a soft, nagging voice. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head.

"Go away," I grumped. I heard another voice crack up, and then clear it's throat.

"Ah, Sherlock. You have to learn the technique. Christine, the water," it said. My brain didn't fully comprehend what was happening until....

"Ack! Who did that! Who?" I demanded, pushing water out of my eyes. I saw Holmes smile happily at me, and Kline started whistling. Christine looked guilty, and I immediately pounced on her.

"Christine, if you tell me who did it, you'll get out of trouble," I said kindly. Christine gulped, and pointed at herself.

"Ok, I didn't actually pour the water on you. It just sorta.... slipped."

"Sure it did. Of course it did. And it just so happened to slip right over my head!"

"Um, yeah?"

"Nerd. All of you, outta my room. I have to get dressed and stuff," I snapped. Christine smiled apologetically at me, and hurried out of my room, Kline not far behind. Holmes smiled at me.

"Well, of all my time that I knew you, you woke up grumpiest then. Did you get these wake up calls often?" he teased. I scowled and pulled on a sweater over my tank top.

"For your information, yes. Usually from Kline, but Christine was very.... imaginative. Kline usually used water, glue, hairspray, and occasionally whip cream. Christine would use honey, floss, wax, and bug spray," I moaned. Holmes raised an eyebrow.

"And how, exactly, do you use these products to wake a person up?" he inquired. I opened my mouth, but then I saw a glint in his eyes.

"There is no way that I'm telling you. You'll just use it against me. Turn around, I have to change my pants," I growled. Holmes laughed and turned away obediently. I yanked off my pajama pants with more force than necessary, and then pulled on a pair of loose jeans. Holmes began fiddling with my bedspread.

"Are you looking forward rehearsal today, Watson?" he asked. I shrugged.

"Oh, I don't know. You can turn around now, unless you don't like seeing me putting up my hair," I told him. Holmes smiled as he turned, and stared as I threw my hair up.

"What?" I asked impatiently. Holmes smiled, rather sadly.

"You're very pretty, did you know that?"

"Ok, who are you, and what did you do with Holmes?" I demanded. He smiled crookedly at me.

"Fine, don't answer my question. Next one. What the heck made you say that?" I persisted. Holmes raised an eyebrow.

"Can't I give a little sentiment once in a while?" he asked, acting hurt. I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, but you really need to give warning or something. Wear a sign. Alerting all people. Holmes is in a sentimental mood this morning. Be prepared for compliments," I announced. Holmes laughed, and watched as I yanked my hair up. He sighed and stood up behind me.

"Let me do that," he whispered. I tossed him the scrunchie and watched as he made quick work of the tangled mass that I was currently calling my hair. As I watched his reflection in the mirror, I heard a snicker. And then another one. I groaned.

"Ok you two. You can come in now. You guys are such sentimentalists," I yelled. The door fell open and Christine came tumbling in, and Kline stepped over her.

"Graceful, Christine, really graceful," she teased. I watched as a mixture of fury and amusement ran across Christine's face.

"Yeah, well. That is what happens when you open the door that I'm leaning on. I was trying to get out of your way, since YOU wanted to hear them," Christine gasped. Holmes laughed.

"I'm sure that she wasn't the only one," he teased. Christine's face turned a bit red as she stood up. She looked at the clock.

"Uh, guys. We have five minutes to get there," she told us. Holmes pulled his hands away from my head and glanced at the clock.

"We must be going. We wouldn't want to be late on the second day."

*************************************************************************************************

"B flat scale, on my signal. One-two-three-four!" Jargin screamed at us. I hastily shoved my clarinet in my mouth and played the scale. Claudia watched in amusement as I gagged (I put the mouthpiece in to far) and started laughing. Jargin stopped and glared at us.

She was wearing hot pink clothes today, and this time her hair was purple with pink and green streaks through it. She jumped down into the pit (she had been on the stage) and stalked over to Claudia.

"Is something funny, Miss?" she snapped. Claudia grinned up at her.

"Why, yes. My good friend here just choked on her reed," she explained, looking very bemused. I heard the rest of the orchestra laugh as I buried my head into my hands. They stopped laughing as soon as Jargin looked around.

"I do not find it amusing. Perhaps you should take your antics elsewhere. Warm up is over. Please pull out 'They Could Be Kind'. The actress and actor who sing this are working on it, and we want to give them some music. I quickly yanked the piece from the folder and stared at it.

The piece was sung by Wiggins and Cricket. It was easy enough to figure out who would be playing Cricket, but I had no clue who was playing Wiggins. I turned to Claudia.

"Hey, Claud? Who is playing Wiggins?" I asked. Claudia looked up from the music and thought a bit.

"A boy named Todd. I don't know his last name," she told me. This time I really did choke.

"_Todd?_ Tell me you're lying!" I exclaimed. Claudia frowned.

"No. I'm not. Todd was talking to somebody about it, and I overheard him. Why, do you dislike Todd?" Claudia asked. I shook my head and concentrated on the music.

I looked up as Jargin called attention to the stage. Christine stood there, and she did not look pleased. Todd was standing right next to her. He leaned over and whispered something to Christine, who promptly rolled her eyes. She made eye contact with me, and mouthed _I think I'm going to be sick! I have to act with him!_

I started giggling at Christine's expression, and I wasn't the only one. I heard Kline start laughing a few rows away, and I saw Holmes quickly cover his mouth. A few other orchestra were chuckling as well. Jargin scowled at Christine, and she quickly shut her mouth.

"These are our Wiggins and Cricket. Todd and Christine. We're going to begin with their lines, with the underscore. As soon as they finish, we must go straight into the song. Where is John, anyway? He's supposed to be directing. I saw Christine sigh and raise her hand. Jargin glared at her.

"What is it, Cricket?" she snapped. Christine looked unhappy, but decided to speak anyway.

"John said that he had to clean up his hotel room, or something. He also said-" Christine was cut off as Todd jumped in.

"He said that he needed to meet you later on for business, ok Sallay?" Todd asked cheerfully. Christine rolled her eyes again and looked away. Jargin instantly softened.

"Well, if he needs to meet me for business later on, then that is all right. Now, continue!" Jargin snapped, gaining back her nasty personality. I zoned out as Christine and Todd read their lines, and became absorbed in the music.

This was actually a very nice piece, and from what I could see of Holmes, he didn't mind it either. At least he was frowning over it. From what I could see of Christine, she seemed to have memorized the lines already, and she also seemed to like them. Then I realized what was going on- Cricket was arguing with Wiggins. So of course, Christine would enjoy it. I grinned despite myself, and watched as Jargin directed us to move into the actual song.

It wasn't a hard piece, really. There were some parts that made me frown in concentration, but I imagined it was harder for the actors. According to the score, Christine would begin it.

"_What's the point of helping anyone, if they don't want you around?" _Christine sang. Todd was sitting on a box, and then opened up his mouth.

"_This one over there, stuff all in her hair, runnin' round the streets like they're her own,"_ he snapped back. And so it went on, the song. By the end, I was in near hysterics. It was so much like those two! Christine scowled at me as I giggled into my clarinet. She seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

*************************************************************************************************

"You should have seen your face, Christine!" howled Kline. Christine sighed and leaned back in her chair.

We were all sitting in Holmes's room, contemplating rehearsal. Christine had sang and acted the entire day with just Todd, and had looked close to murder by the end of rehearsal. And of course, my lips were shot. We had played I Used To Know, They Could Be Kind, One Man, To Be Like You, and Once In My Life. Holmes had agreed with me that they were all very nice, but he didn't like some of them.

"I imagine that I looked very peeved, but I just wanted to slap the moron! Who can blame me?" Christine questioned. Holmes raised his hand, and Christine glared at him.

"It was a rhetorical question, Sherlock. Open your mouth, and I will take it upon myself to kill you. Moving on. How was your rehearsal?" asked Christine sweetly. I rolled my eyes.

"Painful. Those songs can be hard to play, especially when you have Jargin breathing down your neck," I muttered. Holmes laughed.

"How did you manage to choke on your reed, anyway?" he laughed. I glowered at him.

"NOT funny. I put it too far into my mouth. What about you? What did you do? How is the second chair violinist?" I asked. Holmes sighed and fell carelessly onto the bed.

"Dreadfully annoying. She kept pestering me throughout the entire rehearsal. If it had gone on any longer, I would have taken a page out of Christine's book and killed her," he teased. Christine rose to her feet, sniffed at us, and left the room. Kline grinned.

"Good one, Sherlock! You've managed to offend her. My rehearsal was cool. The flute music is pretty fun. Too many whole notes for my taste, but that is the way the ball bounces!" Kline said cheerfully. I laughed.

"And why are you in such a good mood, Kline?" I asked. Kline grinned again.

"Ah, the joys of a sugar high. And you know how much I like music!" she protested. I rose unsteadily to my feet, and glanced at the door Christine had left open.

"So, should we go apologize to the Drama Queen?" I asked. Holmes shrugged.

"I won't. She was just being dramatic. Besides, she is sitting right outside the door, we won't have to go far," he announced. I heard a snicker and saw Christine poke her head back in.

"Excellent call. Come on, Kliney. Let's leave these two lovebirds alone, all right?" she teased. I dropped my jaw and faked annoyance as Kline dashed out the door and slammed it behind her. I rolled my eyes and joined Holmes on the bed.

"They say they aren't sentimentalists?" Holmes asked, playing with my hair. I sighed.

"I have no idea why. They are. You should have seen them back in Ashling. Constantly falling over each other to try and watch Kelsey and Rachel's dates. They would place bets on who would get their first kiss, out of Kelsey and Rachel, of course. Their Christmas and birthday ideas for us would be lipstick and such. Christine would always grin and say that we would need it after we finished with our boyfriends. And to imagine, she's the somewhat mature one!" I exclaimed. Holmes began to braid my hair as I giggled at some of the memories that were left in my head.

"Really? Then why has Christine never dated anyone, and why does Kline move on so much?" he asked. I sighed.

"I don't know. They're weird? No, Kline just hasn't found the perfect guy yet, and is willing to hang out with her guy friends until she finds one. She has never really been out on a date. Christine just has friends. She doesn't want to date anyone yet. Says she's too young," I informed him.

"Does your mother think you're too young?"

"Yeah, but she likes you."

"It's nice to be liked."

"Especially by your girlfriend's parent."

"Are we really dating?" Holmes asked suddenly. I shrugged.

"I wouldn't think so. The occasional kiss, hug, and that is about it. I mean, really, think about it. Our idea of a good time is solving a case. And half of those cases have ended up with us in the hospital, moaning over each other," I reminded him. Holmes finished the braid and wrapped his arms around me.

"I'm sorry I can't be the traditional boyfriend," he said. I leaned against him and thought a moment.

"Um, if you were a normal boyfriend, I probably would have dumped you by now. No offense, or anything."

__

Nice one, Jenny. Just out right tell him you would have dumped him if he were normal. Good call, good call. You are really a genius.

"None taken, I assure you. If you were a normal girl, you would never have become my friend," he said in return. I spun around.

"Well, that is somewhat rude! Who were your friends before I met you, anyway? I haven't met any," I said jokingly. Holmes sighed and looked at the ground.

"It has taken you over a year to ask that? I had the Irregulars, Olivia for a while, and... that is it. What about you? Who were your friends besides Christine, Kline, Rachel, and Kelsey?" 

"Jeremy Lyndon. I'm sure you remember him, you weren't very fond of him. I was also friends with a girl named Lisa. She was second chair clarinet at my school. We were constantly trying to beat each other at chairs, and every day we would race to class. We would try to get the first chair first. It didn't really matter to us about chairs, it was just fun. What about Lindsey? Aren't you friends with her?" I asked. Holmes laughed.

"The second chair violinist? Are you insane? She hates me!"

"I find that hard to believe."

"You wouldn't if you knew her."

"Yeah, I probably would. What?" I yelled. Someone had knocked on the door, and Kline opened it. She looked horrible.

"Sorry to interrupt your lovey-dovey conversation, but something happened that I think you should know about," she whispered. Holmes and I exchanged glances and ran after Kline.

We stopped in front of room number 310, on the next floor. Christine was busy comforting a hysterical girl, and seemed relieved to see us. She carefully pried the girl off of her.

"Jamie, could you tell my friends what happened?" she asked gently. The girl looked at us, and burst into a fresh wave of tears.

"I- I came up to Gina's room. I-I knocked a c-couple of times, but she d-didn't answer. I opened the d-door, thinking she might st-still be with Jackie, b-but she-- she was dead!" Jamie screamed. Holmes turned pale next to me and carefully opened the door to her room. I nearly threw up at the sight inside.

A girl lay just inside the door, her head shattered, with gray matter clinging to her clothes. Presumably, her brain.

*************************************************************************************************

"I think I'm going to be sick," Christine muttered as we ransacked the victims room. She had been left to go through the victims clothes. She was trying hard not to look at Gina- the dead girl- but we could still smell everything. Holmes looked up from the square inch of ground he was inspecting.

"Hurry up. The police will be here any minute. I want some evidence before they get here," he snapped. Christine frowned and continued to pick through her clothes.

Kline and I watched as those two did things. Kline had already finished inspecting the bathroom, closet, and hallway, and we had nothing to do. I tapped my foot impatiently, and then looked out the door.

The police were walking up the hall!

"Uh, hate to hurry this, but the police are going to be here in another minute!" I yelped. Christine jumped away from the body in an instant, and Holmes went faster. After another two seconds, he cried out in triumph, and pocketed something. Then the police knocked on the door.

"Police! Open up!" they yelled. Kline rolled her eyes and opened the door.

"We weren't hiding anything, you could have just come in," she mumbled darkly. The Scotland Yard official shoved her aside and stood facing Holmes. He scowled.

"Mr. Holmes. Fancy seeing you here. Tell me you aren't involved in this," he scowled. I realized then who the heck he was. It was Inspector Lestrade! The last time he had seen me, Holmes had pretty much passed me off as a prostitute. I quickly hid myself behind Kline.

"I'm sorry Inspector, I am not. My friends and I discovered the young lady who found her body," he snapped. Holmes pushed his way past Lestrade and left us to stare after him. I looked apologetically at Lestrade and then raced after him. Christine and Kline could fill out whatever paper work there needed to be done.

"Holmes! What did you find before Lestrade showed up?" I hissed as we went back into his room. He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a microscopic piece of pink stuff.

"I found this. I have no idea what it is, but it doesn't belong there," he said, handing it to me. I squinted at it.

"Odd. Maybe Kline will know what it is. Or Christine," I added.

"Maybe I'll know what?" Kline asked from the doorway. Holmes waved her in.

"Where is Christine?" I asked, puzzled about why she wasn't with her other half.

"Oh, I left her to talk to that nimrod Lestrade. She knows all about that stupid paperwork, and I didn't want to do it," she said nonchalantly. Holmes nodded.

"Of course. We wanted to know if you knew what this is," Holmes said, handing her the small bit of fabric-y stuff. Kline squinted at it, and then held it further away. Finally, she sighed.

"Anybody got a magnifying glass?" she asked. I giggled at one of the memories I had from our last case with them, and shook my head. Kline caught my amused look, and looked hurt.

"You mean you don't wear my going away present?" 

"Sorry, it seemed to slip my mind."

"Ah, well. It'll have to wait. Christine has one in her pocket."

"Maybe I don't want to give it to you," Christine said suddenly from behind me. "After all, you left me to deal with that idiot."

"Please? For the good of the case?" Kline pleaded. Christine rolled her eyes and tossed the magnifying glass to Kline.

"Look, I'm going to bed early, as I have a feeling we'll be up early tomorrow. Keep the glass, I'll get it tomorrow," Christine sighed. I nodded.

"I'd better get going too. Don't you two stay up too late, ok?" I scolded. Holmes nodded absent mindedly, and Kline didn't even respond. I sighed and left Holmes's room. It was going to be a long night.

Ok, pretty worthless chapter. But I had to add the case in soon enough. I'm thinking that the next chapter isn't going to happen, and that I'll just cram it into the other chapter I have planned. Yeah, the beginning of the next chapter will be a journal entry from Watson, explaining what the heck happened next. And the next chapter is called 'Dance of Death'. Please review, I'll be your friend forever if you do!


	5. Dance of Death, Part One

Hmmm, what shall I do today? Hey, maybe I can update my lousy SH story! And lousy is the word for it. I got, what, three reviews on the last chapter? Ok, that is pretty pathetic for me. And if you even care slightly about my chapters, thank Jen, who e-mailed me to say that I had to write more.

Honestly, I'm not feeling well, and I am getting an ulcer. I was planning on discontinuing my story. But Jen, Queen Hotaru, and someone else made me see the light! Yeah, sappy, I know.

Ok, quick recap. Holmes, Watson, Kline, and Christine have all joined the musical production of Holmes! The Musical. Imagine that. Last chapter is where the real mystery began. A girl's brains were blown out of her head. Slight ick factor, yes. But hey, my brain has a slight ick factor, so deal!

Yup, I'm grumpy. One more thing. IF SOMEDAY SARAH DOESN'T UPDATE HER STORY, I'M GONNA HURT SOMEONE! Ahem. I'm calm. Really.

Chapter Something or Other: Dance of Death

I dragged my sorry butt out of bed and ran a comb through my hair. Then I reached over and pulled out my journal. The days events had to be recorded.

_From the journal of Jennifer Watson_

January, some date that I don't know

Dear Journal,

And it started out as a normal day. Well, as normal as it gets for me. The night before last, a girl was murdered. C filled out the paperwork for us, and HK worked all night on something or other. Me? Well, I got to sleep.

I woke up only to see K peering down at me. Egads, is that girl annoying sometimes! Not like C is any better. She came dancing in, humming, and tossed me some clothes. Then she started belting some weird language Aria! Can you believe her! Urg, my friends are pains in the butt. I want to smack them.

But that isn't the point. We got out of there quickly enough. Rehearsal was fine. Claudia and I were talking when the tragedy happened.

They were having set construction for the orchestra and the dancers today while the actors worked. Two girls, both trumpet players, were underneath a backdrop when it collapsed. It fell on them, and broke their necks instantly. They died minutes later.

HK both got a good look at who was holding the ropes. Jackie was, and a dancer. But Jackie was the only one who could have done it. We're all going to be watching her carefully. She's our main suspect, but she doesn't really have a motive.

So now HKC and me are all involved. I hate it when we get involved in cases sometimes. Most of them land Holmes and I in the hospital. It's really annoying. Someone has it out for us, I swear (A/N: Really, Watson, you think?) 

__

H was telling me that we're going to need a break after this case, as it seems a bit more- involved- than any others. CK are busy right now. Spying or something. CK seem to remain very confidential on these matters. I have never really gotten a true response from them.

Well, H is here now. Gotta go!

Love, 

Jennifer Anne Watson

I smiled at the door as someone slammed on it.

"Come in," I called, closing my journal. Holmes came in and closed the door quickly. He smiled grimly at me and sat down.

"Good morning Watson. You're looking-er- radiant this morning," he said, eyeing my pajamas. I scowled at him and yawned.

"And where are the Dream Team this morning? Off spying again? And on who?" I asked automatically. Holmes laughed.

"Actually, Christine and Kline are sleeping in for a little bit. It seems they got in late last night. All I could get from Kline was this: 'Talk bad. Sleep good. Go bye-bye now!'. And Christine was already asleep," Holmes chuckled. I grinned. That did sound like Kline and Christine, all right. Then some noise came from behind my door, and it slammed open.

"I distinctly recall hearing those words, Sherlock. I was not yet asleep," Christine bellowed. She stormed in and shoved him off the bed and then sat down next to me, smiling sweetly.

"Good morning, Jenny. I trust you fare well?" she said happily. Holmes glared at her from the floor, and then shoved her off and sat next to me.

"She's fine, CHRIS. As I was saying-"

Christine shoved him off the bed. "Will you let me braid your hair, it's-"

Holmes shoved her off the bed. "-I'm not sure what the Dream T-"

Christine shoved him off the bed. "-So pretty in the morning, you-"

"-eam discovered last night. They-"

"know? Please? I won't-"

"-don't tell me-

"-rat it up or-"

"Anything," finished the two at the same time, slamming into each other. I couldn't help it. I cracked up.

"Jeez, I didn't know I was so popular!" I giggled. Christine and Holmes smiled at each other.

"You're not," they responded with perfect timing. I raised an eyebrow, and then turned to Christine.

"And where is her royal highness this morning? Sleeping in, I take it?" I asked slyly. A voice came from the doorway.

"Well, at least you're recognizing me as royalty. It's about time. Wuz up my homie g?" Kline asked as she strolled in. Holmes laughed.

"Ah yes, American slang from a queen. I'm sure anybody would believe that!" he exclaimed. Kline rolled her eyes, and then shoved Christine off the bed and sat next to me.

Holmes, Christine, and I all started laughing. Kline stared at us.

"What did I miss?"

******************************************************************************************

"I've been working on the railllllllroadddddd! Aaaaallll the live long daaaaaaaay!" I belted. Holmes winced and tightened his grip on the seat. Christine groaned, but I heard Kline laugh from behind us.

"I've been working on the raaaiiillllroaaadddddd! And I don't know the ressstttttttt!" she belted equally loud. I turned in my seat and looked at her.

"You don't know the rest of the words?" I asked, astonished. Kline shrugged.

"Never deemed it important, ya know?" she said. Then she grinned. "What are the rest of the words?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"Car," Holmes yelled. I whipped around and twisted the steering wheel. We missed the car-barely. Holmes glared at me.

"What fool gave you your drivers license?" he snapped. I grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

"Honey, the only reason I got this thing is because you refused to get yours. And one of us needs to know how to drive. Right Kline?" I called back. She laughed.

"You got that right, Jenny. I can't get mine, the police took it. Christine here, if she got hers, we'd be catching criminals way quicker," she teased. I saw Christine roll her eyes in the review mirror.

"I'm a bit too young. Besides, you know I hate cars," Christine snapped. Kline groaned.

"You go skidding off the road once, and you're scarred for life. Poor baby!"

I laughed at my friend's incessant teasing, and turned my eyes back to the road. Holmes smiled at me from his seat, and then frowned. He grabbed his beeper from the back of his pants, and looked at it.

"Emergency meeting at the theater, Watson. It appears they're requesting everyone to attend. It's urgent. I suppose we'll have to cancel breakfast," Holmes muttered. I sighed and twisted the steering wheel sharply. The tires squealed and left black marks on the road.

"Cool!" I yelped.

"We're all going to die," I heard Christine mumble.

******************************************************************************************

"Not late! We're not late! Not late, not late, not late, not late, not late!" Kline yelled as she slammed into the doors. I was only a few feet behind her, and turned red as all eyes turned towards us. Darn her. We didn't need that much attention brought to us.

Christine scowled suddenly and pointed at the only four available seats. Right next to Todd. I laughed a bit and ran so I didn't have to sit next to Todd. Holmes followed me and sat next to me, Kline sat next to Holmes, leaving Christine to sit next to Todd. Again. She shot a death glare at us, and then shot a death glare at Todd, and then shot a death glare at anybody who stared at us. All and all, she was not in a happy mood.

Jon walked onto the stage and smiled down at us.

"I'm happy to see that some of our prospective members have decided to join us," he said, winking at us. I sank low in my seat and avoided anybody's looks. Kline nodded happily, while Christine kept shooting death glares. Holmes kept his look blank. Jon continued.

"We are pleased to announce that we are having a ball. Correction, a costume ball. Ok, it's more like a party, but you get the idea. The theme is people from different countries and different time periods. It's tomorrow evening, so I suggest you hurry to get your costumes. Please be as creative as possible. I hope you all manage to find dates, as I would love to see dancing couple after dancing couple. You're dismissed. Go home. Go away," he said, shooing us all of a sudden. Christine glared at him and stood up.

"You mean we missed breakfast for that?" she asked angrily. Todd smiled from behind her.

"Ah my dear. That is show business," he chuckled. Christine forced a smile and turned around.

"Todd, luv? Don't make me hurt you," she snapped. Kline put a hand on Christine's shoulder, and Christine shot a death glare at _her_. Holmes laughed and smiled at Todd.

"I suggest you take that as the only warning you'll ever get. And I assure you, Christine is a wonderful fighter. She will, as she would say, whip your butt," he said. Todd grinned at him and shook his head.

"Man, why do you hang out with these broads? The one next to you, she's all right. Kinda quiet, but she's cool. But the other two, man! This girl keeps trying to fight me, and the other one holds her back. I'd like to see what Christine can do to me. I betcha it's low level damage," he said teasingly. Christine's smile began to disappear, and I feared the worst.

"Todd. You. Have. Not. Seen. Me. Fight. I. Will. Kill. You. Now!" she yelled. She reached back an arm and slammed Todd in the stomach, then she gasped.

"Ow! Ow ow ow ow ow ow!" she yelped. She paused and looked at her hand. "That hurt," she added as an afterthought. Todd was staring at her.

"Wow. You pack a punch," he said breathlessly. He clutched at his stomach and waddled away. Christine was busy inspecting her hand. I shook my head.

"Well, who saw that coming?" We all raised our hands, even Christine. I shook my head again.

"And to imagine, I thought you didn't like to fight Christine," I said sadly. Christine laughed, and Kline joined her.

"Ah Jen. You've seen nothing. And I don't. But- gosh, that guy gets on my nerves. I wonder why?" Christine said slowly. Kline grinned wolfishly.

"I know why!" she cried in a sing-song voice. Christine raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. Kline snickered.

"Christine has a crush!"

"I do not!"

"Yes you do!"

"No I don't!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"NO!"

"Yes times infinity!"

"Darn it!"

Holmes and I chuckled and I stood on my toes to whisper in his ear.

"They're rather childish, aren't they?"

"Dear Lord, yes they are."

*************************************************************************************************

"Come along, Watson," Holmes called into my hotel room. Frowning, I jumped off the bed and opened the door.

"Come along where?" I asked suspiciously. Holmes walked into my bedroom and smiled at me.

"We're going back to my house for something. We need to get some costumes, after all. The dance is tomorrow."

"Well, yeah, but I was planning on going as an American kid from this era."

"How dull. And you're not. Fine then, we won't go all the way home. But," Holmes paused, "we're going shopping. And I assure you, I will not be putting on a dress, even for you."

I snickered at the memory and began yanking on my sneakers.

"Fine, fine. Whatever."

"Well, at least you're being reasonable."

"That might have something to do with Kline and Christine acting like toddlers."

Holmes smiled and took my hand, escorting me to a taxi that was waiting for us.

*************************************************************************************************

"So, who are we again?" I asked, severely confused. Holmes and I had gone shopping the night before, and he had picked out our costumes for us. I still didn't know what mine was, and it was an hour before the dance began.

Holmes sighed and tossed me a package. He was already dressed, as an Englishman from the late 1800's.

"You're Irene Adler, and I'm Sherlock Holmes," he said. I rolled my eyes.

"No kidding. I know you're Sherlock Holmes. But I'm Jennifer Watson, not Irene Adler. Are you feeling ok?" I teased, pulling out a green dress from the box. Holmes rubbed his forehead.

"Sherlock Holmes, senior. It's our own little joke, can you please just play along?" 

"You're so easy to tease, you know that don't you? Of course I'll play along. Now out! I have to change. Get Kline and Christine, though, will you?"

"Of course, Watson."

I heard the door close, and I stared at the dress. How did a woman get into these kind of dresses? From what I could tell, there was no zipper.

The door opened again, and an Italian woman appeared in front of me. I raised an eyebrow.

"Uh... Christine?" I guessed. The Italian woman nodded, and swirled around. The dress spun out, and Christine grinned.

"The joys of makeup. I even put it on willingly!"

I heard Kline snort from behind me.

"If you count being held down as willingly, then yes."

I smirked, and then looked at Kline helplessly.

"How do I put this thing on? I don't see a zipper," I cried, showing her the dress. Kline examined it, and then started laughing. 

"What?" I asked, offended. Kline turned the back to face me.

"You're the blindest person I've ever met, Jenny. Buttons. All up the back. You pull it on over your head, and then button up the back!" she exclaimed, giggling. I glared at her and yanked the dress from her hands, tossing it over my head. Then I quickly removed my shirt and pants.

"Both of you stop laughing and button me up," I snapped. Christine coughed and stopped, but Kline kept giggling. They both stood behind me, buttoning the twenty buttons. I stepped away from them and looked at the dress in a full length mirror. The green silk clung to me, showing off all my curves. It was actually a lovely dress, and I smiled at myself shyly.

"Not bad," mused Christine. She looked at Kline, who was staring at me. Nudging her, Christine scowled.

"Oh! Oh yeah, real nice. I'm surprised you didn't have guys falling over your feet back in Ashling," said Kline. She herself was wearing a loose dress. I laughed.

"They were too busy drooling over you, Kline. You're not exactly ugly yourself."

Kline grinned, and then scowled.

"I'm _not exactly _ugly? Is that to say that I'm ugly, but not as much as you?" she asked angrily. I raised a hand into the air.

"No, no! I meant it as to say you're nice looking, so stop goggling over me," I clarified. A voice cleared itself from the doorway, and I turned. Holmes was standing there, looking amused.

"Yes, yes. Watson, you really must clarify. Christine, Kline, lovely costumes. But was it that you have in your knapsack, Christine?" he asked, poking the bulging backpack with his foot. Christine smiled lightly.

"Well, I might as well not waste the entire dance watching couples. I'm going to do some spying. I want to catch that murderer. I doubt that I'll find anything, but it never hurts to look," she said. I smiled at her, but shook my head.

"That didn't answer the question, Christine," I said. Before Christine could answer, Kline began speaking.

"It's her second costume. She thinks that she's so famous anybody will recognize her sneaking around. It is a Muslim woman's outfit. So it covers her face. Conceited, isn't she?"

Christine sneered at Kline, and turned back to me.

"You'll have to forgive Kline, Jenny. Has delusions- thinks she's a genius. At any rate, she's somewhat right. I need another costume, otherwise everybody will recognize me. And I'm not conceited, it's the truth. I'm up on that bloody stage everyday!" she said. Holmes raised an eyebrow.

"You've been around the British too long, Christine. You're starting to sound like one. And that's a good idea, and you're right. You would be recognized."

Christine nodded triumphantly at Kline, who stuck out her tongue. I rolled my eyes at both of them, and glanced at my watch.

"You guys? We have to go, or we're going to be late. And as much as I'm not looking forward to this dance, I really don't need yet another late performance added to our track record," I said, carefully adding some makeup to a pocket in my dress. Holmes smiled at me, and took my arm, escorting me out of the room.

From behind me, I heard several catcalls, courtesy of Kline and Christine. Babies.

*************************************************************************************************

"Ok, this is boring. Who else is bored?" asked Kline, taking a swig from her water bottle. I chuckled at her and examined my nails.

"Oh, it's not that bad. At least we don't have to watch nauseating couples dirty dance," I said gently. Christine choked on her tea, and looked up.

"Remembering the school dances, are we?" she teased. I grinned and looked at Holmes.

"Next time we go to America, I'm taking you to a school dance. Then you can see the lovely dancing that American girls engage in," I said. Holmes grinned at me, looking up at the ceiling.

"Oh, Watson, I've seen the images on television. Somehow, I think that I'd lose my lunch."

I snorted into my own coffee, and watched the dancing couples. An Incan princess walked by, and then a cowboy. A minute later, some guy dressed up as a Greek guy came over and asked Kline to dance. She sniggered like a little girl, but accepted his offer. Christine watched as they walked onto the dance floor, a bit wistfully- at least to me.

"Lovely..." she murmured. Holmes's sharp ears caught the small muttering, and he looked up at her.

"What's lovely?" he asked. Christine shrugged, adjusting her shirt.

"All I'm going to say is that Alex is a very jealous guy. If he finds out, he'll-"

"Christine?"

Todd had come over to our section of the bar, and now was looking at Christine nervously. Holmes and I watched, interested. Christine just looked suspicious.

"Yes..."

"Um- well, uh, see, the thing is, well, uh, er, I don't know how to say this..."

Christine sighed, and eyed him. "Just say it, Todd."

"Wouldyouliketodancewithme?" he blurted in a rush. My jaw dropped several feet, and I saw Holmes's eyes bulge. Christine, on the other hand, didn't appear to have understood what he had said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. What?" she asked. But I could see that her eyes were laughing. Christine always loved to make boys sweat.

"Would you like to dance with me?" he repeated, slower this time. Christine blinked, and then held out a hand of acceptance. Todd grinned like an idiot. A love struck idiot, but an idiot all the same. He grabbed Christine, and they soon disappeared in the crowds.

Holmes chuckled, and I looked at him. "What?"

He shook his head and kept laughing. "I was wondering when he would work up the guts to ask her out," he laughed. I frowned at him.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You mean you didn't realize it? Kline and I knew it right from the bat- they have crushes on one another."

My jaw dropped open again, and Holmes extended a hand and closed it gently.

"That's rather unbecoming. Please don't do that. And yes, it's true. Sometimes people who like each other bicker a great deal. Denial, it's not just a river," he finished with a flourish. I rolled my eyes.

"You're so cliche, you know that, right Holmes?" I asked, watching some more people dance by unhappily. Holmes sensed my unhappiness and grasped my hands.

"Come, let's dance."

"But every time I dance with you, a bullet is shot at us!"

"I can't believe you still remember that. And it's not true!"

***************

Laughing, I sat back down at my seat, wiping sweat from my face. Holmes was laughing as well, and handed me a kerchief. I nodded my thanks, and started to wipe off my face.

"Well, that was fun. I didn't know that they'd be doing the Chicken Dance!" I giggled. Holmes shook his head.

"We must have looked very dignified, the lot of us. An Incan woman, a gypsy, an Italian woman, two British people, and so forth and so on."

"You forgot the hula dancer."

"Who could forget the hula dancer?"

I laughed again and kissed him on the cheek. 

"Having fun, Holmes?" I asked cheerfully. Holmes smiled, despite himself. It was apparent he was having a great deal of fun.

"I suppose... though I do feel a bit guilty about it. We have a murderer loose and we're having a nice night. Last time we did that your father nearly died," he muttered. My smile disappeared, and I looked at him sympathetically.

"Holmes, you don't still blame yourself for that, do you? Because it wasn't your fault, and everything turned out fine in the long run."

"Did it?" Holmes questioned, getting angry. "Having a gaping hole in your stomach means that it turned out fine? To me, that is not fine. You could have been killed."

I scowled and stood up. "Look Mr. Holmes, you came pretty close to death yourself. We both have. So have Christine and Kline. That's what happens with our line of work. Don't you dare go pussy-footing around me. I'm just as tough as you are," I snapped. Holmes stood up, his height making him a bit more imposing than I was.

"You are not as tough as me, Miss Watson. You're a girl, as much as I loathe to admit. Girls aren't nearly as strong as guys. It's not their fault, either. It's bone structure."

I couldn't believe he had just said that. We had been working together for almost a year and he had never admitted that he was a chauvinistic pig before. My cheeks turned red with fury as I glared at him.

"Well, you know what Mr. Holmes? Screw. You. Consider this partnership at an end!" I bellowed. The dance hall grew silent as I stormed away, a few tears leaking from my eyes. I wiped them away hurriedly. If Holmes was going to act like that, then he could just forget having me around.

Turning a corner, I ran into someone. Backing away, I offered my apologies- only to have the person laugh at me.

"Jenny, it's me!" the voice whispered urgently. It took me a second to realize who exactly was speaking from the Muslim woman garment- until I saw the eyes. Only Christine had dark blue eyes that would laugh at me. I grinned.

"Very nice, Christine. Going to go spy now?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from cracking. Christine didn't appear to notice my inner struggle, and nodded.

"Yeah. Want to come? The dance is pretty boring anyway."

I giggled hysterically. Boring. Hah! I didn't find it very boring, but that might have had something to do with the sudden turn of events.

"You didn't seem to find it boring when Todd asked you to dance," I teased. Christine smacked me on the shoulder.

"Shut up, you. You're one to speak. You and Sherlock looked awfully cozy on the dance floor, if you know what I mean," Christine shot back. I blinked a few times, startled to find that the tears I had been holding in were pouring down my face. Christine goggled at me.

"What the- what's wrong, Jen?" she asked, stunned. I wiped away the tears again.

"Holmes and I broke up."

If I could have seen Christine's mouth, I would have sworn it dropped about five feet. Her eyes bulged and her hands flew to her face. She was obviously not taking it well.

"What- no, you're kidding. Hah hah, funny joke. You- you are kidding, right?" Christine asked hopefully. I shook my head miserably.

"I didn't realize he was such a chauvinist. I thought he, you know, thought girls were all right. But he said that we were weaker than men. He said it wasn't our fault, that it was bone structure, but it's the principle of the thing!" I exclaimed. Christine patted me weakly on the shoulder and then shook her head.

"Now, see, this is why I don't get involved with guys. Things always turn out bad. You wanna come with me? Spying might make you feel better..." Christine said, her eyes twinkling. I grinned, despite myself. Christine and her answers... spying probably would make me feel better, though, I realized. I nodded slowly. Christine grinned (I thought).

"Excellent... now come on. The dance is only another hour! The game is afoot, to quote your former annoying-as-heck, deserves to be attacked my rabid monkeys boyfriend."

With that, Christine grabbed my hand, and we were off, searching for who knew what?

I'm going to have to put this chapter into two parts, sorry. But at least I'm updating!!! It's a miracle, everyone! A bloody miracle! Please review, I really am desperate for them. You'll get a cookie if you do...!


	6. Dance of Death, Part Two

Well, thanks for the reviews, folks! I was shocked to discover that I had received five in one day! I was even more shocked to find that most said good things... and I was triply shocked to discover that you all remembered me. Hmm. That's good, I'll take it.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews. A quick note of reference. I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT LONDON! I just thought I'd tell you so that you don't scowl at me for not having London details perfect. I'm a hopeless American, I'm afraid. Oh well. Hopeless American's are cool. They can write decent stories every once in a while.

Also, much thanks to Someday Sara for finally updating. She didn't review my story (I don't think) which disappoints, but... that doesn't matter. I no longer have to attack and kill someone. That is good.

What? You want the chapter? Jeez, pushy people, aren't you?

Chapter Six: Dance of Death II

Christine quickly shoved a Muslim woman dress thing on me, much to my displeasure. I was grumpy enough, and now my face was being covered. Oh joy. Just what I needed. To barely be able to see. Christine, however, being herself, ignored all my protests and anger. She merely rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath.

That girl could be worse than Mr. Holmes (AN- She means Sherlock, but she's ticked at him, so...) sometimes. Secretive and very annoying. And a complete idiot. And a chauvinistic pig. And arrogant, cocky, full of himself, ignorant...

I forced myself to calm down. We were on a case, I couldn't allow my personal feelings to get in the way at the moment. It was time for me to prove myself to Mr. Holmes, that louse.

"Jenny? Jenny? Hellooooo? What's it like in your world?" Christine muttered in my ear. I snapped out of my silent cursings and glanced at her with wide eyes.

"Whatever do you mean? My world is just fine, also. Why?" I asked. Christine rolled her eyes at me.

"Listen, hun, if you really want to prove yourself to Sherlock, then you got to stay focused," she hissed. I blinked a few times. How had she read my thoughts?

"How did you know what I was thinking?" I asked in surprise. Christine chuckled sourly and drifted through a crowd of people, elbowing a guy who stepped on her Muslim woman dress thing.

"You didn't think it. You said it out loud."

Oh. Shoot. I would have to remember to make sure I was actually not saying what I was speaking. Christine caught my annoyed look and raised an eyebrow.

"No big deal. Just... shh. Got it?"

"I'm not stupid," I snapped. Christine raised her hands.

"Never said you were."

"You implied it," I shot back. Christine glanced around and then leaned close to me.

"Is it that time of the month, Jenny?" she whispered. I glared at her.

"You're being the idiot, not me," I snarled. Christine looked at me in confusion and distress, and then anger. 

"You know what, get out of here. I can work without a pissy bitch hanging around me. Go back to the hotel room," she retorted. I felt my jaw drop. Christine never swore, unless severely agitated. I wasn't really being that annoying, was I? Why did nobody understand that I had just broken up with my boyfriend? It just wasn't fair. I glared at her, and then walked away.

(AN- Yes, Watson is out of character. I'm not going into details, just because it's irrelevant, but it is that time of the month. Now I know what you're thinking: no one acts like this during PMS. All I'm going to say is that I'm pulling this from a bit of personal experience, so it's apparent that people DO act like this during PMS. Get over it.)

Yanking off the irritating head wrap, I walked swiftly away from Christine. She was just as bad as Holmes! She thought she was the best at everything. I was always being treated like the underdog, the idiot, the detective who couldn't figure anything out. I was just as important as the rest of them in every investigation.

Or was I? What I had I really done over the time I had known Holmes? Nearly killed him, for one. Followed him around like a little dog. Nearly got myself killed, which ended up in Holmes rescuing me. Made him try on a dress.

Was Holmes's accusation really that unfounded? I was weaker than him- I knew it all along. So why had I bit his head off? Why had I bitten Christine's head off, for that matter? A sudden cramp in my stomach told all. 

Darn Christine. She had that annoying tendency to be right about PMS. As always... then again, her mood swings were worse than mine ever were, so-

A hand grabbed my wrist, yanking me out of my berating thoughts. Kline's face loomed close to mine, it being unusually serious. I looked at her in surprise.

"Hey Kline. What?" I questioned, noticing the haunted look in her eyes. Kline shook her head slowly.

"There's been an... accident. Go find Sherlock and Christine," she muttered. I sighed, and then shook my head.

"No. You know what, you don't have to speak candidly around me. Spill. What's up?"

Kline looked at me hesitantly, and then nodded slowly. "You're right- you're not a little girl. There has been another murder. This one is especially bloody- the jugular vein was slashed. It's a complete mess- almost as bad as blown-out-brains girl. Do you think you can handle it?" she whispered. I bit my lip. Could I handle poking around a dead girl? Probably not. But I could try.

"Yeah. I can handle it," I said bravely. Kline raised an eyebrow, and then nodded again. She tossed my a pair of rubber gloves.

"No taking evidence. Holmes can do that; he's semi-employed with Scottie Yard, after all. But if we're doing it, we can't take anything. Oh, and beware. The stench is horrible," she warned me. I put on the rubber gloves and shook my head in the affirmative.

Kline opened a door that had been partially hidden by a curtain thing. I walked inside and gagged. Kline had been right- the stench was atrocious. It was worse than the landfills I had been by, and it reeked of freshness. I saw Kline nearly lose her stomach contents, and then she forced herself to calm down.

It was a girl. I think she had blond hair, but there was so much blood it was hard to tell. Her eyes were frozen in an impression of terror, hatred, and- was that sadness? It looked like sadness. Her hand was thrown out into a shadow, as if she were reaching for something. She was still warm, indicating that the murder had happened fairly recently. 

Kline poked her, prodded her, and pushed her while I stood by. Truth was, I knew nearly nothing about anatomy. I hadn't done that well in science in general. I had taken biology, and I was in chemistry- as for anatomy, you could forget it. I knew that Kline had done independent research on anatomy, though, and I trusted her not to make a glaring error.

She didn't. She stood and wiped her gloved hands on a rag.

"She was killed about twenty to twenty-five minutes ago, I would say. Rigor mortis hasn't quite set in yet. Warm, and the blood is still wet. All in all, really gross. So, now what?" she asked me. I looked at her oddly.

"What do you mean, now what?"

"I mean, now what do we do? I mean, what do we look for, exactly? I suppose a knife would be nice, but the chances of the culprit leaving behind the weapon are, like, one in one billion. So, what do you think we should look for?" she asked again. I bit my lip in frustration. How should I know? I tried to run over all the things I had watched Holmes do over the short time I had known him, and came up pretty much blank.

"Um, search for fingerprints?" I suggested. Kline thought about it for a second, and then nodded.

"That sounds right. Now, see, this is what happens when we don't have our better halves. You know that Christine is the searching one of our group. Kinda. Well, you get what I mean. She doesn't have the sort of patience for my kind of searches. And I'm babbling, so I'll shut up now," Kline announced. I giggled.

"Best news I heard all day."

"Oh, shut up."

Kline pulled out a dusting kit from her costume pocket, and then studied the body with disdain.

"Question. How do we do this? All the dust will stick to the blood, and then we'll get thrown in jail for obstructing evidence, or whatever. Oh, you know what, screw it! Let's look for a knife," Kline announced in frustration. I backed away slowly from her- and promptly tripped over a bundle of rope. I glared at the rope with anger, until I saw the thing that was in it.

"Hey, Kline? One in a billion of finding the murder weapon at the scene of crime, right? Looks like we are the one," I said slowly, my finger pointing at a rather bloody knife. Kline rushed over, helped me up, and then studied the weapon.

"Crap, we are lucky, aren't we? And we still can't dust it for fingerprints!" howled Kline in sadness. I smiled bleakly at her, and then sighed.

"I'll go get Holmes..."

******************************************************************************************

"What!" he shouted, spitting his tea back into his cup. I grimaced. Backwashing was disgusting, at least to me. 

"We found another dead girl, and the murder weapon," I said urgently. Holmes studied me warily.

"If this is a trick to get me away from the crowds so you can kill me, I'm not buying it," he murmured. I snickered.

"If I were that angry, I wouldn't try to get you away from the crowd. Look, will you just come with me? Kline can't touch anything- you can. You got permission, or whatever. I still don't get the legal technicalities of that."

"You're not supposed to. Lestrade made it especially hard to understand so no one would pick up on the fact that, essentially, I am an under-aged police officer."

"Oh. So you're saying he can be intelligent when he wants to?"

"When he wants to."

"Well, that's better than nothing."

"I suppose. Lead the way, Watson."

I grinned at him, a weight lifted off of my shoulders. Mind you, it wasn't a large one, but it was enough. Holmes wasn't entirely angry at me, even though I had been a complete prat. That was a relief...

"I'm still agitated at you, Watson," Holmes interrupted. I threw my hands into the air.

"Why is it that everyone can read my mind?" I muttered. I had a feeling Holmes was smirking, but I couldn't see him- I was leading, for once.

"I can see your shoulders relaxing. You're not exactly hard to read," he laughed. I growled under my breath. Everyone was being a wise guy.

I pointed at the half hidden door in dismay. I really had no desire to go back into the girl's tomb, but I guess I didn't have a choice. Holmes breezed by me and threw the door open.

"Hey, watch it, bub!" snapped Christine's voice from inside. Holmes raised an eyebrow at her, and then immediately went to the body. I followed, not even glancing at Christine. She was probably a bit more angry than Holmes was.

Holmes spent a minute studying the girl's corpse, and then walked over to the place where I had found the knife. Kline tossed him some rubber gloves, and he quickly put them on and lifted the knife.

It was just a simple penknife, the sort almost everyone owns. From what I could tell, it wasn't much help. Holmes seemed to spend a great deal of time on it, though, and requested for a magnifying glass, which Kline gave to him. Finally he tossed it into a little baggie- and then froze.

"What?" Christine asked, confused. Holmes just tilted his head to the side, and then shoved me into a corner. Kline and Christine dove into the shadows just as the door opened.

A tall woman entered, her brown hair shining in the moment of light. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the body. But unlike most people, she didn't start screaming, or crying hysterically. She regarded the girl's corpse quietly, and then looked around. Without another word, she started to laugh a bit, and then Jackie LeSalle, esteemed choreographer, left the room.

******************************************************************************************

"She didn't even spaz! I'm telling you, she has to be at the top of our suspect list," Kline snapped. Christine nodded enthusiastically. I shook my head.

"What about John? He is always... elsewhere... during rehearsals. Fact is, I haven't seen him since he was introduced to us. And Sallay Jargin! She seems to be disappearing at the oddest times," I argued. Kline glanced at me.

"Yeah, but Jackie makes the most sense. I mean, she was right with those two trumpet players when the backdrop fell. And didn't Jamie say that Gina was with Jackie before she was killed? Jackie definitely has the opportunity."

"But we still have means and motive! I mean, why would a choreographer kill off a dancer, two trumpet players, and the second chair violinist?" I questioned.

We had finally managed to identify the dead girl. We had been horrified to discover that it was Holmes's stand partner. I didn't know her name, but Holmes seemed a bit distraught about it, considering the last thing he had said about her was that she was annoying.

I glanced over to see what Holmes was doing. He had his hands in his pockets as he paced back and forth in Christine's hotel room. We had ditched the costume ball early and called the police, handing over the little evidence we had to them. A piece of thread and a knife that was practically worthless. They had glared at us and sent us away, but...

"The fact of the matter is that we don't have enough evidence to have anyone as logical suspects at the moment. Nobody has a motive, nobody has the means, and everyone has the opportunity. We cannot jump to hasty conclusions," Holmes snapped at us. Christine leaned back in the desk chair.

"We're just speculating, Sherlock. Don't get your knickers in a knot," she said softly. Holmes began gnawing on his pinkie as he went over the facts over and over again.

"Speculating leads to wrong conclusions. Let's try to keep it to the facts."

Christine jumped out of her chair, her dark blue eyes blazing with a sort malevolence.

"We don't have enough facts to keep it to! If we don't hurry, someone else is going to get killed, and it will be your fault!" Christine shouted. That certainly struck a chord in Holmes, and he whipped around and shoved her out of his way.

"You, Christine, are an undereducated amateur! Don't lecture me about time restrictions! I know them only to well. I suggest that you sit down and keep your mouth shut until you have something reasonably intelligent to say," he snapped. Christine rolled her eyes and sat down. Kline looked at him hesitantly.

"She has a point, Sherlock. You know that most homicides only have about 72 hours to solve a case before the evidence becomes cold, or whatever," she reminded him. Holmes looked at her irritably.

"I know that, Kline. But I also know that we're dealing with a serial killer, not a single homicide. And I also know that these are getting far to close to home. All of you, just stay quiet. I need to think."

I flopped down next to Kline on the bed and raised an eyebrow at her. A silent conversation ensued.

_What's with him?_

I don't know- stress, I guess.

Has he always been like this?

I've only known him a year, I really wouldn't know. 

Well, in all the time you've know him, has he been like this?

Never this stressed. Stressed, yes, but not this much.

What do you think the difference is.

It's closer to us now than it ever has been. More deadly.

More people have been killed?

Usually we get dragged in on a case in the middle. Four people is the most we've ever witnessed in our cases.

So, he's freaking out because it's more deadly now.

Basically.

He doesn't have to yell at us, though.

What, did you expect him to coddle us?

At this point, Christine slammed a book down on the table, issuing a glare from Holmes.

"Hey, Sherlock, hate to break the mood, but I'm getting sick of this. We're not amateurs, in case you haven't noticed. Jenny works with you, Kline and I work together all the time. No need to keep us in the dark, here," she snapped. I stared at Christine in amazement. She was becoming much more... open with her opinions. Holmes studied her with a look of distaste on his face.

"Miss Penninger, I recognize that you are not amateurs. But I myself have no inkling as to what to think of this case, and I can hardly ask any of you to be dragged into this chaotic affair."

Kline stood up and looked at him evenly, sarcastic amusement on her face.

"Listen, babe (can I call you babe?). Just ask. We work good with chaotic affairs. And why the heck are you shoving us away all of a sudden? You let us do most of the work back in Michigan," Kline reminded him. Holmes looked at her impatiently. I could tell that his temper was rising swiftly.

"It was your territory in Michigan! You knew the ground better, and you had a better idea as to the character of the people we were investigating. But now that we're on my land, in my town, you don't know half of the things that I do. Accept it. Christine, you haven't any idea of what you are talking about. You're being senseless. And Kline? No, you may not call me babe, and I have reasons for 'shoving you away' as you so eloquently put it. You and Christine are too much alike- I suggest you both do what I request. Sit down and shut your bloody mouth!" he shouted. Kline stared at Holmes in amazement and then stood up, walking right over to him and staring him in the eye.

"Sherlock whatever-your-middle-name-is Holmes! You are one to speak! How dare you call Christine senseless. She has a point, and a very good one. Which is unusual for her, but still. And why don't you try and explain your reasons, huh? Otherwise, you're going to find yourself very much alone in this case," she snarled. Holmes held her gaze evenly.

"This case could get you killed. That is my reason."

Christine snorted and sat down on the desk, crossing her legs.

"Look, Sherlock, point of fact. We're detectives. We wouldn't be in this business if we were worried about getting killed. That isn't a very good reason, if you ask me," she commented lightly, her voice tinged with anger. Holmes laughed bitterly.

"Well, it's a good thing no one asked you then, isn't it?"

I grabbed my hair in agitation. We were acting like three-year-olds! I had my own personal reasons for acting like a prat, but what about Holmes? I had a feeling what his hang-up was, but it was getting annoying. Meanwhile, Christine was glaring at Holmes, her eyes blazing.

"Then I guess you're getting my opinion anyway! GET OFF YOUR HIGH HORSE, SHERLOCK! You aren't all that, despite whatever your ego tells you. If you don't let us help, then we are tying you to the furnace and solving the case ourselves. Am I right, Kline? Jenny?" she shrieked. Kline nodded, and glanced at me. It all came down to me at this point.

I looked at Holmes hesitantly, hoping to see some sign of remorse. Alas, the only thing I saw on his cold face was stubbornness. My eyes widened, and then I nodded.

"They're right, Holmes. You really should let us help," I murmured soothingly. Holmes turned his back on us and stared out the window.

"I'm not letting you help."

Kline scoffed and walked towards the door, her features rigid and angry.

"Well then, you might as well just give up on the case. You can't do anything without us. And you're not getting our help anymore. Have fun, Sherlock. The victims will be happy to know that you've essentially given up."

Holmes spun around and stared at her, his dark blue eyes filled with surprise.

"You wouldn't really leave this case, would you?" he questioned. Kline shook her head.

"We're not leaving the case. We're leaving you."

"I don't see a difference."

"Hmm... leaving something that will do the world good, and leaving something that is being an amazing pain in the arse. Let's think about it," Christine said sarcastically. Holmes glared at her, and then sat down on the bed.

"Fine. You know what, I would suggest that you leave. I know I can do this case by myself," he snapped irritably. I chuckled with glee, and Holmes looked at me. "What?"

"During the case where Robert was killing everyone? Irene was still around? You told me you didn't like working alone. Liar, liar, pants on fire," I teased. Holmes blushed, much to my amusement, and scowled.

"Things change. Get out," he muttered. It was Christine's turn to laugh, and laugh she did. Her laugh was an odd sort, somewhat airy and wheezy. Kline began to giggle hysterically as well, catching on something that I didn't.

"This is my room, Sherlock! You should be the one getting out!" Christine laughed. I couldn't stand it. Biting my lip, I began to laugh. Kline was practically on the floor now.

"Leave it to the great Sherlock Holmes to overlook something so obvious!" she howled. Christine cracked up again, and I burst into laughter. Holmes turned a deep red and glared at us.

"Shut up!" he yelled. That created greater amusement to us, and we started to giggle again. Holmes crossed his arms and pouted, seemingly hurt. Then again, it was a blow to his pride... I walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, my laughter controlled for the moment.

"Aw, don't be such a spoilsport, Holmes. Crack a grin, will you?" I said, immediately bursting into laughter again. Holmes smiled a bit, but not much. But I could see his anger quickly dying away. In fact, I could see all of our anger quickly disappearing. Then Holmes started to laugh. His dark eyes lightened a bit as he slapped his knees.

"I am a complete git!" he declared. I cracked up and sat down on the bed. I saw Christine and Kline practically dying with laughter... our anger had disappeared.

*****

"Oh! Oh! Oh! That was good. Heck yeah, we needed a laugh," Kline wheezed about five minutes later. Christine let a little giggle out and wiped away some of the tears that were streaming down her face. I was sitting on Holmes's lap and still giggling slightly.

"I wish somebody had caught that entire conversation on tape. It would have provided a great deal of amusement for Kline's future kiddies. And of course, Holmes and Jenny will be married by then, so they'll have a bunch of screaming kids. I, however, will be-" Kline cut Christine off with a mischievous smile.

"-Happily married to Todd, with three screaming children of your own," she laughed. Holmes, who was holding me in his lap, started to laugh.

"What will they name the children, I wonder?" Holmes questioned. I giggled and looked at him.

"She'll have to name one of them after Kline, one after you, and one after me, of course. But then she'll have more children so she can name one after Todd, one after her mother, one after Rachel, one after Kelsey, one after other people that she's met, and about fifty more to name with the names she really likes," I said thoughtfully. Christine gasped with mock indignation.

"How dare you imply that Todd and I are going to get married! Are you nuts? He's so, well, ewww," she responded. Kline looked at her, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

"Yeah, right. Like you don't think he's hot," she muttered. Christine glared at her.

"He's not hot. He's not- well, all right. He's cute. But not hot! Please, give me some credit here. I don't look at looks, I look for brains. Sophistication. Proper respect for a lady," said Christine drolly. Holmes laughed.

"If you were looking for people with brains, sophistication, and proper respect for a lady, then you wouldn't be part of this group, now would you?"

I grinned at him and patted him on the cheek. At least he was admitting that he had acted like an idiot earlier that night...

My smile was wiped away as I thought about earlier. I could see Kline looking a little guilty also, and Christine's smile had disappeared. I felt Holmes tense underneath me, and he quickly lifted me off his lap.

"Look at this, we've wasted a good thirty minutes arguing and laughing. We need to get to work on the case. Someone's life is in our hands," he said quickly. I nodded solemnly, and took a seat by the bed.

"So far we have too many suspects. Jackie, John, Sallay... we haven't even considered cast members yet. Tomorrow we have to start looking. Christine, I want you to interrogate the actors and actresses. Kline, you sneak around the crew members, especially our three main suspects. Watson, I would appreciate it if you could talk to the dancers, and I'll talk to the orchestra members," Holmes announced, pacing the floor. I nodded. The dancers really wouldn't be that hard.

"What about the knife, Sherlock? We never got a chance to dust it for fingerprints," Kline said, frowning. Holmes sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I know. I'll try to convince Inspector Lestrade to allow me to see it. I doubt he will though- he was angry enough about having to agree to our agreement. Besides, I doubt our murderer would have left anything for us," he reminded us. I shrugged.

"We also didn't think that our murderer would have left us the murder weapon, but low and behold, it was there," I said. Kline nodded in agreement.

"I don't think we're dealing with a very capable killer, here. I mean, what numbskull leaves behind the weapon?" she asked. Holmes sighed.

"A confident one."

Voila! End of chapter! Aren't you all proud of me? I actually finished it, and am going to be updating it! Yay! No six month wait...

The agreement I spoke about between Lestrade and Holmes is as followed: Holmes is allowed to take evidence, look around the crime scenes, yadda yadda yadda, as long as he gives the evidence to Scotland Yard later. I know this seems unlikely, but come on. I need some way to make what they're doing legal. Anyway, this agreement occurred in between "Be Still My Heart" and "Splendor of the Stars", so that's why you're just now hearing about it. The reason the agreement was made is because Lestrade realized that he couldn't stop Holmes from poking around. Don't get me wrong- Lestrade still hates Holmes and wishes he would stop. But he does admit that the guy is good at what he does.

Please review, because I'll love you forever. Everyone who reviewed last time gets cookies- anyone who reviews this time gets a yummy cake.J 


	7. Dance Moves Missing

**I'm starting the seventh chapter on the same day that I posted the sixth- that's a new record for me, I have to admit. Of course, I won't finish it today, so why should I bother? Eh. Oh well. It is about 9:15 in the evening, I had to keep writing. My dad just yelled at me, so that might have something to do with it... **

I hope everyone enjoyed the last chapter. A bit unrealistic, I think, but my friends and I have fights that end up like that sometimes, so it is a bit normal. I added the fight, in case you're wondering, because everyone seemed to have too perfect a relationship. Sorry, dears, but people disagree a lot. So I added it to make my characters a bit more three dimensional, essentially. I can't stand Mary Sues... and Holmes was turning into a bit of one, so I decided to show his biggest flaw.

Well, we delve a bit further into the mystery in this chapter. Someone told me (can't remember who) that poor Watson was being treated like an imbecile. This chapter is going to focus around her investigation of the dancers, so we're finally going to get to see her detective skills. I have neglected to show them in the past, but that is because I try to stay somewhat true to the canon. And you have to admit, the original Watson was kinda naive when it came to the detective matters. He was better at figuring out the heart.

I'm done rambling, just read the darn chapter and review it. Flames will make me feel dejected, so if you hate the story so much, please either refrain from reviewing, or put it NICELY. Thanks much!

This chapter consists of: Deep thoughts from Watson, a quiet moment with Holmes, a quiet conversation with Christine, the interview of dancers, and some quiet talk with Kline.

Chapter Seven: Dance Moves Missing

I yawned and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes tiredly. My bed felt unusually hard this morning, and there was an annoying noise in the background. Opening my eyes fully, everything came rushing back to me.

I was still in Christine's room. We had continued our meeting late into the night, until three am or so. Christine had been the first to fall asleep. After that, we had all begun to get drowsy. I was the next to fall asleep, and so I could only assume that Kline or Holmes had turned on the TV, which was the annoying background noise. 

As I was already on the floor, I reached over to the TV and switched it off. Christine, who had been bent over the desk, rocketed up, knocking over a lamp in the process. With a small gasp, she dove over the desk, catching the lamp just in time. Unfortunately, her large movements had woken Kline up. Kline's eyes snapped open, and she promptly fell off the end of the bed- right onto Holmes. Holmes snapped to attention and shoved her off. While stumbling around, he managed to step on me, causing me to howl. I jumped backwards, running into Christine, who then succeeded in stumbling backwards- and hitting Kline in the head at the same time. Kline stumbled into Holmes. 

Thankfully, he managed to stop himself from going anywhere else, otherwise we'd have a chain reaction going the entire time.

"Well, that was certainly a comedy of errors," commented Kline, rubbing her head where Christine had hit her. I laughed a bit.

"I promise I'll never turn off the TV again," I declared, smirking at Christine. Christine ran a hand through her hair and rolled her eyes.

"I'm easily startled. So sue me," she yawned. Holmes raised an eyebrow.

"That's what started that entire fiasco? The turning off of a television?" he asked incredulously. I nodded, and he immediately laughed. "I always knew television was bad for your health."

I grinned at him and glanced at the clock. 

"Oh! Crap, we're going to be late for rehearsal!" I yelped. Holmes shot a glance at the clock, and then ran out of the room as though the hounds of hell were after him. 

I quickly yanked the Muslim dress off of me, revealing my jeans and a tank top. I saw Christine do the same thing. Kline glanced at herself in the mirror, and then shrugged. She could wear her dress to rehearsal.

Without a word, we grabbed our various items (instruments, purses, room keys, and hairbrushes), and ran out the door, slamming it behind us. I saw Holmes come dashing out of his own room, still tugging on a shoe, and we quickly hopped in an elevator.

We were going to be SO late.

*************************************************************************************************

_"From a bleak December.... Nothing more than a leaf in the wind.... There's nothing more to remember. A beginning that led to an end...©"_ I heard the man who played Holmes sing. I tossed my purse into one of the chairs and began to assemble my clarinet even as I dashed down the steps to the pit. Holmes was right behind me, and Kline had already sat down in her chair. I caught a glimpse of Christine rushing to the stage, but then I was in the pit.

Dashing through the assortment of stands, I managed to get to my seat without knocking many of them down. I flopped down next to Claudia, who raised an eyebrow at me even as she played. I shook my head and joined in on the last three measures. It was a pity, really. Act One Finale was one of my favorite songs.

The song ended with a flourish of beautiful voices singing 'light'. I bit my lip in fear as I saw Sallay Jargin come onto the stage, her normal angry look being replaced by an especially angry look.

"Very good, cast. It would have been much better, however, if certain members of both the orchestra and the cast had showed up on time. I must stress the importance of being on time. You know the rules. You cannot be late more than three times. If you are, then you are out of the show. We open in two weeks, people! You must get serious about this, or I will have a personal talk with John. He will not be pleased to know that our Cricket, our first violin player, our second clarinet player, and our fourth flute player are being consistently late!" shrieked Sallay. I winced as she glared at me. Claudia smirked.

"Care to explain why you're late?" she whispered as she pulled out the music for Bottoms Up!. I shook my head.

"Not really, but you won't take that for an answer, will you?"

"No."

"I was up late with my friends. You know, Christine, Kline, and Holmes," I explained as I adjusted my reed. Claudia grinned.

"A threesome, was it?"

"Wha- oh, Claudia! Eww, no! We were discussing... things," I finished lamely. Claudia raised her eyebrows.

"Things. That really narrows it down," she said sarcastically. I shrugged.

"I really don't know if I should tell you. I mean, I trust you Claudia. But I am not sure if I'm supposed to. For all I know, you could be the cause of it all," I said quietly. Claudia looked at me evenly, and then smiled.

"You're trying to solve the murders. That's nice of you. Scotland Yard isn't doing much of anything, really. I don't think they recognize the fact that we've had four murders. Idiots," Claudia said rapidly. I stared at her. Was I really that obvious?

"Um, yeah," I stammered. Claudia grinned at me mysteriously, and then turned back to the music. But I wasn't going to let her go that easily. She had quite a few things to explain to me.

"How'd you know?" I inquired. Claudia looked up and smiled at me.

"My dear, what else could you and your friends have been discussing that you weren't sure you could tell me about? That I could be the cause of? The murders, obviously," she answered. I sighed.

"You're not angry at me for making you a suspect, are you?" I questioned. Claudia shook her head cheerfully.

"Not at all. You have to suspect everyone. In fact, it's rather flattering. If you think I could kill people... I've always been described as sweet. Now I finally have someone who suspects me of murder," she chirped. I nearly protested. I didn't think she could have murdered anyone. I didn't want to burst her bubble, though, so I didn't say anything.

Instead, I turned my attention to the music. Jargin was already angry at me, I didn't need her on my butt for not playing.

*************************************************************************************************

I fell onto my bed tiredly and buried my face into the pillows. I was so darned tired. After being up until three, getting up at eight, having rehearsal until eleven... it was exhausting, that was what it was.

As I stared into the pillow and studied it's whiteness, I tried to go over the facts from the case so far. My mind was drawing pure static, however, and I moaned under my breath. This case was possibly our hardest yet, annoyingly enough. I mean, our first case together had been difficult. But that was because it was so personal. Being shot at, being held hostage, finding out that it was Holmes's own mother doing it all... it had brought Holmes and I closer, though. I suppose that was the only good thing about that case.

The next major case had been personal also. Irene Holmes, Holmes's sister, had been one of the targets. But it hadn't been nearly as challenging as we had made it to be. We hadn't known who had murdered all of the girls before we met the murderer, but that was only because we had run out of time.

The case of Jane the Ripper had been extremely challenging. But there had certainly been more clues. Plus, we knew where everyone was being taken from, and we had met the murderer before the final showdown. The fact that we hadn't suspected her had come back to haunt us, but...

Some of our minor cases had been utterly ridiculous. Even still there was the lingering laughs from it all. Still, there had been the occasional murder thrown into the mix. But they had been so simple, so childish. Holmes had usually been able to solve them within a few days.

But this case... this case was far too close to us. Certainly, the first had been the only other one where it had been so glaringly obvious that someone was after us. But we knew it. This case was... it was hard to describe. It was close, and yet not at the same time. It wasn't our friends who were being targeted. In fact, we barely knew them. At most, we knew their names. Yet there was still the lingering sensation of fear in the air. There was something off about this case, even I knew it.

Maybe it was the fact that we didn't know who the targets were. The first case it had been us, the second case it had been the Moonscape girls, and the third case it had been drunk men. This case? So far we had a violinist dead, a dancer, and two trumpets. We couldn't safely say that the targets were instrumentalists. They had been the main targets so far, but that meant nothing.

Or maybe it was the fact that we could be targets. We were part of the show, it was possible. Yet there had been no open threats to us yet. I didn't even think that we had considered the idea that we could be next. We were too concerned about other people.

Or maybe it was the utter lack of clues! A knife and a piece of thread told us nothing. Absolutely nothing. And Scotland Yard had taken both pieces of evidence, so there was no way we would ever be able to figure out if it was something.

I groaned again and attempted to bury my head further into my pillow. Someone cleared their throat gently, and I quickly rolled over.

It was Holmes, looking just as tired as me. Maybe more tired, since he had dark shadows under his eyes. He smiled wearily at me and sat down on the bed.

"Bit tired?" he asked. I snorted.

"Doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

There was a silence. I looked over at Holmes, who looked a bit off to me. As though he were waiting to tell me something. Sighing, I rubbed my eyes.

"What is it, Holmes?" I asked. Holmes smirked and matched my action by rubbing his own eyes.

"Jackie LeSalle has disappeared. There was no note, and all of her things are still at the hotel," he explained. I moaned sadly.

"What do Kline and Christine say about this?" I queried, already knowing what they would think.

"They seem to think that this proves her guilt, without a doubt." I nodded, figuring that they would say something like that.

"Well, they're known to be wrong."

"They don't seem to think they're wrong about this."

I sat up and shrugged. "I don't think she did it, personally. I don't know, it's this sixth sense thing. I just sorta feel like she didn't do it. She had an innocent aura thing going for her."

Holmes laughed suddenly, and I stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"A sixth sense thing? Does that mean you can see dead people, Watson?" he joked. I blinked, and then cracked a smile, swatting him on the shoulder.

"Oh, hilarious. Hyuck, hyuck," I replied sarcastically. Holmes smiled at me and lay back on the bed.

"I feel that your sixth sense may be right, Watson. Jackie just didn't have the right... something for murder. You've seen her with the dancers- she didn't have the authority. She would ask them to do something, and if the dancers refused, she burst into tears. Jackie was quiet, but not the sort of quiet that would make one suspect murderer. She was teased, but not teased in the sort of way that would drive her to murder. She just doesn't fit the profile," Holmes stressed, frustration slipping in and out of his voice. I sighed.

"Yeah, well. We've been wrong more than once. It would be nice if we knew the murderer before they managed to kill one of us," I grumped. Holmes studied the wall, his eyes looking sad.

"All of our cases have ended up with one of us in the hospital, haven't they?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Not the vampire one. Or the cat one. Or the ones that involved petty theft. The murder ones? Yeah, we always land in the hospital. More often than not, one of us is in critical condition, and we end up moping over our sleeping bodies for days on end. Gets tiresome, doesn't it?"

Holmes nodded grimly. "You have no idea. The nurses have rooms practically reserved for us, the doctors tease us about it, my father and Charise have even put away part of their income each month just for hospital bills! I've had more injuries than a sixty-year-old man has in only sixteen years... what does that tell you, pray tell?" he snapped, more angry at himself than at me.

"That we're idiots who keep putting ourselves into dangerous positions? It would be nice to deal with a murder case that didn't land one of us in the hospital," I sighed wistfully. I felt Holmes nod next to me.

"I think we should watch out for Christine and Kline more, though," he remarked. I glanced at him.

"Why?"

"Well, how many times have they been in the hospital?" he asked me. I sat back on my elbows, thinking about it for a moment.

"When we were in Michigan was the first time. You know how they work- they spy more than anything. They don't go throwing themselves into dangerous situations like we do. I wonder how they do it...?"

I heard someone laugh dryly from the doorway. "That's easy enough to answer. Our cases are lame compared to these."

Christine sauntered into the room, looking refreshed and alert. I stared at her in disbelief.

"How in the world do you manage to look like you've gotten fifteen hours of sleep?" I questioned. Christine grinned.

"A shower and three cups of cappuccino. You two look like crap. I suggest you try my therapy. It really works," she teased. I rolled my eyes at her, and Holmes smiled.

"So, you're cases are lame, are they?" he asked. Christine nodded, leaning against the wall.

"Please. Way lame. The most danger we've ever been in is when a platform fell on us. And it was cheap, light wood, so it didn't hurt much. Plus," she added laughingly, "we don't go making enemies. We're much more casual about our investigations. Make it look like two stupid teenagers when we have to ask questions. Other than that, we spy. And if you don't get caught when you spy, then you don't make enemies. You two are much more bold with the detective thing," she explained. Holmes laughed.

"I'm sure you've made two perfectly good enemies in Michigan. Thankfully for you two, they're both in a maximum security jail, and won't ever be leaving it. Otherwise, I would think you should be fearing for your life," he replied. Christine shrugged.

"Eh. Life is short enough as it is. Why waste it on worrying about who's going to end it?"

"Christine?" I interrupted her. "Why'd you come here?"

"What, can't I come and see my friends? Is it a crime?" she protested. I looked at her doubtfully.

"You rarely track both of us down to discuss the weather. Come on, what's up?" I pressed. Christine shrugged.

"Kline and I just wanted to tell you that we're off to poke around at our designated arts groups. You know... the crew and the cast. Since we have three hours until next rehearsal, we thought it might be best. Jenny, hate to burst your little happy bubble, but the dancers are at the theatre right now, going over some stuff. If you want to probe them, you'd best go now," she reported. I sighed darkly and dragged myself from the bed.

"All right, that's cool. I'll talk to you later, then?" I asked, looking at Holmes. He nodded sleepily and put his head on the pillows. I glared at him.

"No falling asleep, or I'll use Kline's method of waking people up. See you later!" I called over my shoulder.

Christine walked with me down the hallway in silence, her light brown hair drifting into her eyes. She pushed it away irritably, and focused her eyes onto the ground. She seemed downcast, for some reason. I couldn't blame her, really- the case was going poorly. But the silence was bugging me.

"So, um, how's it going?" I asked, desperate for conversation. Christine looked at me, her dark eyes laughing at me.

"About as good as it is for you. A somewhat stupid question, don't you think? I mean, come on. If you're so desperate for a conversation, you could have said something else," observed Christine dryly. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.

"Ok, yeah, stupid. But what are we supposed to talk about in situations like this?" I asked her. Christine turned her face back to the ground, and stuck her hands deep into her pants pockets as she pondered the question.

"Not quite sure," she admitted quietly. "We've never been in a situation like this before. Well, we have, but there is usually Kline or Sherlock to keep us talking. In fact, I don't think I've ever spent a single second alone with you when we've been on cases."

I grinned bleakly at Christine. She was right, of course. She had that annoying habit of being right a lot.

"There's never been the time. Whenever we're on cases, we've worked with the others. Heck, even before we were on cases. You know, just when I lived there. We were never very close, were we?" I asked. Christine laughed bitterly.

"No, we weren't. But in case you didn't notice, I wasn't close to anyone," she snapped. I stared at her in disbelief. Certainly, Christine and I had never been very close, but I hadn't noticed her being unsocial, or anything like that.

"No... I didn't notice. What do you mean? I thought you were like a sister to Kline, Rachel, and Kelsey," I responded. Christine smiled, a tight little half smile.

"Not to Rachel and Kelsey. Kelsey didn't like me much, really. Thought I was too dramatic, or whatever. Something like that. And Rachel? She... changed. Rachel grew up too fast. Our friendship has become a bit strained. Whenever it's a one on one conversation, we're just fine. Or when we're in the church. But when we're with the rest of the group? You would think we were complete strangers..." Christine stated matter-of-factly. 

"But you and Kline are close," I insisted. Christine shrugged, impatiently pushing her hair out of her eyes again.

"We're as close as partners usually are. We would probably die for each other, and all that crap. We work well together. But we have the stupidest little fights. When I say stupid, I mean stupid. I hate it. You know how it is- she'll get on my back about NOT having a boyfriend, and I'll get on her back for having one. And of course, we have religious quarrels, and sometimes our fights are even worse. I'll correct her grammar or something, and she'll completely freak out. Call me a perfectionist or something. And then she'll tease me about my fashion, or the way I go about things, I just won't want to deal with it. I'll blow up at her. You've seen me when I get really angry... I'm not very nice. I don't know, I kind of feel like the outcast of everyone," Christine pondered, as if forgetting I was there.

I stared at her, my face showing exactly what I felt. I guess I had never really thought about my friend's personal lives. I had always been too busy with mine. I wondered if Kline had these sort of issues, and made it a goal to talk to her later that night. But since Christine was right there, I decided to keep her talking.

"Do you like Kline?" I questioned, confused about their friendship. She painted a pretty bad picture. Christine sort of sighed, and glanced at me, a sardonic smile on her face.

"Do you think I'm going to say no? Of course I like her; I wouldn't work with her if I didn't. But we're complete opposites. She's so big, so bold. I'm... not. I just blend into the background. Screw that- I AM the background. Kline's the life of the party; I'm the one to go to if you need someone to call 911. But Kline is cool. She's nice enough. But we both get into our moods... you've witnessed them."

Indeed I had. Both had strange moods that would last for days. Kline would become exceedingly snappish, and would end up leaving our little clique for days at a time. She would hate us with every fiber of her being, saying that we used her, and treated her like trash. She would rant about how we hated her boyfriend, and couldn't get over the fact that she was the first one dating, and that we were all just jealous. She would swear at us, hit us, and do anything in her power to ruin what little reputation we had. It was a nasty business trying to get her out of one of her moods. Afterwards, Kline always apologized. She would start crying, or something like that. And we would always forgive her.

In many ways, Christine's moods were worse. She wasn't a violent person, so she didn't hurt us in the same way that Kline did. But she would just seem to... disappear... for a while. It was like her mind had gone elsewhere. She would avoid us. When lunch came, she went out of her way to sit alone. When we approached her about it, she would just burst into tears and run away. And if she didn't burst into tears, she had vicious words for us. She would glare at each and everyone of us, declaring us 'imbeciles' and 'a waste of space'. She would insult our intelligence, our integrity, and our pride. She would accuse us of being just like everyone else. And we knew what she meant by that. She meant that we were mean to her, and teased her. 

There were times when we wouldn't see that she was in one of her moods. Christine didn't take her moods to the extreme sometimes. But we'd criticize her for something, and she would go into this huge lecture. When Kelsey had accused her of being too dramatic, she blew up. She just screamed at Kelsey- said that being dramatic wasn't her fault, it was just the way she was. And if Kelsey didn't like it then fine, she would change. She would be just like Kelsey- boring and dead. Kelsey had yelled back, of course. That was one of the first times Christine had ever just walked out of our group.

"Christine?"

"Yeah?"

"I never asked. Why did you start to cry whenever we tried to talk to you during one of your moods?" I inquired. Christine grinned at me. A real grin, not one of her sarcastic ones.

"Because I was depressed. I didn't think that I deserved good friends. I didn't think I deserved any friends, for that matter."

I nodded slowly. Another question sprang to mind.

"Have you and Kline ever both had your moods at the same time?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

Christine's face became thoughtful as she recalled it. "It was during the old woman case. Kline had been having an especially hard day with her wheelchair, the case was going poorly, I was highly depressed, and we slipped into our moods without realizing it. I was working on alienating myself that day, when Kline came to confront me about it. I snapped at her, she snapped at me. She said that I wasn't working hard enough on the case, that I was leaving it all to her. I told her she was being a complete git for thinking that, and that I always worked my hardest on the cases, that it was her that was lax. Kline tried to run me over with her wheelchair, I slapped her... she hit me in my bad arm, I kicked her in the leg... we told each other that the partnership was over, as was the friendship. We walked away from each other, bearing too many grudges to count.

"My mood passed first- it always does- and I went straight to Kline to apologize. Her mom knew what had happened, and refused to let me into the house, said it was my fault her daughter was in a wheelchair. I walked away from her and broke Kline's window. Crawled through it, talked to her. Apologized. She was still in her mood, though. Wouldn't accept it. Said I was apologizing to make myself feel better. To clear my conscience. I yelled at her, told her that wasn't true, that she was being paranoid. She used her wheelchair to back me out of the window, and we ended up not speaking for days.

"Her mood passed then. Came to see me. Apologized. I accepted it, and we went on with the case," finished Christine blandly. I shook my head.

"Sounds pretty stupid to me," I commented. Christine tossed back her head and laughed.

"All of our fights are stupid. They always have been."

"What about last night?" I asked. "Was that just stress, or was it a mood?"

Christine furrowed her brow in thought, trying to remember the night before. The cappuccino had apparently blurred her thoughts of the night before, because it took her a good minute to figure it out.

"A mini-mood. Kind of like the thunder in the distance- you know something big is coming, but it hasn't reached you yet," she explained. I sighed darkly.

"Lovely. I'm hoping you don't have one in the middle of this case. Wouldn't be convenient," I complained. Christine snorted.

"I don't much choose when they happen. If I did, I would have them happen when I was alone. They're embarrassing, frankly," claimed Christine. I smirked.

"I understand. Are you still angry at me?" I asked suddenly. Christine's head shot up and she looked at me evenly. I could see the calculating look in her eyes. She was so much like Holmes sometimes. Always calculating. But she was a bit more dreamy, and much more relaxed. 

"Yes. Yes, I am," she confirmed quietly. I sighed. I knew there had been something a bit too distant about our conversation. She had been spilling her innermost secrets, but it had lacked the joking that Christine usually used.

"Look, I'm sorry Christine. You were right, it was that time of the month. Think you can forgive me?" I pleaded, looking and sounding somewhat pathetic. Christine studied me as we approached the theatre. Our talk had taken a while, it seemed. As she pushed open the doors, Christine looked at me directly, her eyes blank.

"We'll have to wait and see. You got me pretty ticked off, Jenny. I understand the whole PMS bit, but I- I need some time. Come by my room later tonight. Just give me some time to mull it over," suggested Christine calmly. And then she walked away, leaving me to shake my head.

She never had been angry properly. No yelling, nothing like that unless she was furious. Just a simple statement, a cool glance, and then a speedy retreat.

It would seem I had alienated more than Holmes in my tirade the night before.

*************************************************************************************************

The dancers were all dressed in pink. Pink, the most disgusting color in the world. Pink, the color of tutus and toe shoes, which all symbolized girly stuff to me. Pink. 

What was more- there were so many of them. It was like wading through a sea of pink. I suppressed a shudder. Why had Holmes given me the dancers? Probably just to spite me, but somehow I doubted it. He probably didn't think I would have a problem with them.

Finally, I got up enough courage to just walk up to a girl. She was tall, pretty, long legs. Just like a dancer would be. Perfect. Dancers had always made me somewhat depressed. I was pretty, I was told, and smart. But I just didn't have that nice look that dancers had. They looked... elegant. I looked gawky. But since I was talking to them for a case, I could handle it.

"Um, hi, can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked the girl. She looked at me in surprise, and then nodded slowly.

"Yes, you may. I am Alexis Victor. And you are...?" the dancer asked. I smiled at her. She seemed nice so far.

"Jennifer Watson. I'm the second chair clarinet player," I explained. Alexis laughed suddenly.

"Ah, yes, Sallay spoke of you. Said you had spunk, had energy. Wasn't afraid to defy her. She admires you, in a way," Alexis admitted to me. I looked at her, surprise written over my face. Alexis laughed.

"Sallay is a good friend of mine. She tells me everything. She speaks of you and your little friends often," she announced. I felt myself blush, not really sure of what to say.

"She tells you everything, huh? Has she talked to you about the murders?" I asked quietly. Alexis's face fell, sadness all over her features.

"Yeah, she has. Said they were a pity, that they were all such talented girls. Weird how only girl's have been targeted, huh?"

"Yeah, real weird. I feel weird being in the same building as a murderer, don't you?"

Alexis nodded violently, a few brunette strands falling down the side of her face. "Most assuredly. All I can keep thinking is 'I hope I'm not next'. I know that's selfish, but that's the way humans think. We're very self-centered. Do you know who did it?" she asked me. I shook my head.

"If I did, I'd report it to Scotland Yard immediately, get the killer out of the building. You know, have a nice, normal show production," I endorsed. Alexis nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged.

"You have to admit though, it does add a little bit of excitement. You know, an air of mystery and danger. It does wonders when you're dancing. Extra adrenaline is really helpful sometimes," Alexis added. I shrugged, not really knowing. I was pleased with how the conversation was going, so far. Now to get her alibi...

"What's sad is that I was with my friends the times of the murders. All I can keep thinking is that I could have helped them somehow. You know, that I could have seen the murder, or prevented it," I said remorsefully. Alexis sighed.

"At least you were with your friends. I was always off with Jackie, or with my private dancing instructor. Making myself better while innocent people got murdered. Puts things into perspective, doesn't it?"

I continued my conversation with Alexis for a while, and then excused myself. I talked to a few other girls, not all of them having good alibi's like Alexis. Some of them said they had just been in their room, while others were with friends like I was. A few of them had known the victims- most of the dancers condemned them, actually.

"Gina? Oh God, I'm glad the murderer killed her. She was so annoying. Strutted around, saying that she was the best, just because she made first dancer," snapped Anastasia Amalkov, a Russian dancer. She was fifth dancer herself, but wasn't fond of bragging.

"Lisa and Diane? The second and third trumpet players that were killed? Really annoying, from what I heard. Argued with Sallay, said they were doing everything just perfect. Drove Sallay mad. Personally, the fact that they're gone relieves me. It means that Sallay won't be in such a grumpy mood when she gets here," whispered Mary Gietzen, tenth dancer.

"Gina? I didn't think that she bragged that much, actually. Anastasia had problems with her, but Anastasia has problems with everyone. In fact, the only thing I ever heard Gina say about her position in front of me was that she was proud of herself. I don't know, I think Ana is just being a complete idiot," fumed Judith Beaman, third dancer.

"I didn't know the second chair violinist, but I heard she was pretty nice. I think she was disappointed with her position, and kind of jealous of that Holmes kid, but she enjoyed the music and learned to appreciate her position over time," acknowledged Hannah Yiesha, fourth dancer.

"They obviously did something to bug the murderer. I don't believe any of the crap everyone else is saying. They're making them out to be all saintly- well, except for Anastasia- and I just can't believe something like that. I mean, a person doesn't go around killing for no reason. Those girls had a reason for getting killed," declared Amy Lennox, eighth dancer.

"Personally, I hope the killer murders Anastasia next," Melanie Williams snarled. She was the second dancer.

"Well, I don't really know what to think of the murders," Emily Vouche said shyly. I was currently speaking to her. Rather, she was speaking to me. The last dancer of the troupe had been working on a spin and slammed into me. I rubbed my eyes tiredly.

"Why?" I asked. Emily shrugged, fiddling with her toe shoes.

"I think Gina deserved it, personally. She wasn't a very nice person. But I didn't know the other girl's well enough. I've heard that they bragged a bit, but otherwise, I'm just not sure," Emily murmured. I wanted to scream. I had gotten so many different character analysis's from so many different people... it was getting tiring.

Emily took her toe shoes off and began mending the laces angrily as I thought of my next question. I watched her rapid movements as she stitched a piece of thread into the fraying shoes. Finally, the endless needle motions nearly drove me insane, so I decided to end the interview.

"Well, thanks Emily. Pleasure talking to you," I stated tiredly. Emily didn't even stop fixing her shoes to say good bye, and I walked away, leaving the pink room once and for all.

Those dancers were all so conceited! They had been absorbed with the competition, and were all backstabbing little bullies. I didn't really enjoy talking to any of them. Alexis had been all right, she had actually been somewhat nice. Focused on her performance, but that was all right. A lot of artists were focused on their art.

I stumbled out of the theatre, my eyes half closed. Unfortunately, this ended up with me slamming into someone else. I opened my eyes hastily to apologize, to see the grinning face of Kline in front of me.

"Hey, watch it you bum," she teased cheerfully. I giggled half-heartedly and looked at her quietly.

"Did your interrogations go well?" I asked. Kline nodded, looking excited.

"I'll tell you about it later. I have some exciting news. Christine is going to be so proud of me!" she practically shrieked. I winced, and then recalled my earlier goal of having a deep conversation with Kline.

"What, like she isn't already?" I scoffed. Kline glanced at me, skepticism in her eyes.

"Please. You know how she feels about my methods," Kline replied. I shook my head.

"No, I don't know. Explain."

Kline sighed and tossed her hair. "Christine thinks I'm too brash. She doesn't think that I think things through. Feels that I'm too hasty in my detection. I swear, she's like a second mother at times," Kline griped. I raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you say that?" I inquired. Kline raised an eyebrow.

"Like you don't know. Wait, don't say anything. No, you don't know. Explain. Fine, I'll do that. Whenever I'm around Christine, I feel like a child seeking approval. Or even worse, a child who is just trying to keep the mother happy. You know how uptight she gets at times. She'll raise her nose and sniff if I haven't thought things through perfectly, and she freaks out if I do anything that's a bit unorthodox. She's so annoying sometimes," stressed Kline unhappily. I looked at her oddly.

"Do you even like Christine?" asking the same question I had asked of Christine. Kline laughed merrily.

"Of course I like Christine. She's annoying sometimes, but she's like your own personal psychiatrist at other times. I mean, she's so freaky. Depressing, yet perky. Humorless, yet amusing. Quiet, yet loud. It takes you forever to get used to her moods, you know?" Kline asked me. I smirked a bit. 

When Holmes had first met Christine and Kline, he had asked me to describe their personalities. I distinctly remembered using the word 'vibrant' for Kline, and 'clashing' for Christine. They had lived up to their descriptions so far- apparently, even Kline described Christine as clashing.

"Well, your moods are hard to get used to, too," I reminded her. Kline sighed a bit, her icy blue eyes drifting off suddenly.

"Don't remind me. I always feel so guilty afterwards, you know? When you're in the sort of moods that I get, it's like you can't feel any remorse. But when you remember how you made Rachel's face fall, and Kelsey's eyes widen with hurt, or Christine give you that weird wounded puppy thing she does, it makes you feel like trash. Like you're not worthy of the friends you have. Like they're too good for you," she spat.

Christine had said something similar earlier, if I remembered correctly. Except she said that the feeling caused her moods. Kline's came at the end of hers... it intrigued me to see how very alike the two were, even if they didn't realize it.

"Is any person worthy enough of their friends, though?" Kline shot at me suddenly. I blinked at the unexpected question. I wasn't like the others. Rachel would have thought about it and said maybe. Kelsey would have said yes. Christine was certainly a no. Me? I didn't know...

"Um... depends on their mentality," I said lamely. Kline laughed, a perky laugh.

"Now, see, that's the question that will get a different answer from everyone. I asked Christine that once. Want to know what her answer was?" she asked me. I nodded eagerly, though I was certain that I knew what it would be.

"She actually had to think about it! Christine finally didn't have an answer immediately. In the end, she said yes. I thought she was going to say no, personally. She's such a gloomy person," preached Kline happily. I blinked. That certainly wasn't the answer I had been expecting from Christine.

"Did she say why?"

"Yeah. She quoted Aristotle. "A friend is one soul in two bodies". You know how Christine feels about the soul... and she kind of interpreted the question as "Is any person worthy of themselves?"."

"What do you say to that answer?" I asked, intrigued. We were having an interesting conversation so far.

"I don't think anybody is worthy of their friends. But that is what makes people such good friends. Those small insecurities, those needs. The longing for companionship, and knowing that we really don't deserve it. Everyone has it, you know. But that is what drives us to make friends. It's like we're trying to prove to the world that yes, we're worthy. I think it's an unconscious need at times. But it's there. And if you think about it, what do we feel when we don't have more than one friend? That we're not good enough, that there is something wrong with us. That we're not worthy. I'm telling you, I have this thing figured out," Kline crowed. I laughed a bit, surprised at how philosophical she was getting. Kline grinned.

"Now see! People always think that I'm a carefree girl, that I just plow right through life. I do think about these things at times. I'm not an airhead, after all. Hey, another philosophical thing for you. Look at one of those maze things. How do you see each of us getting through it?" she asked me. I had to think about it.

"Holmes would analyze the entire thing, figure out the way to get through, and then do the puzzle. I would just go along and make the mistakes that need to be made. Christine believes in that whole right-hand rule thing, and you? You have a tendency to just go right through it. You would go through the lines and stuff," I said sheepishly. Kline grinned.

"Now put it to real life terms. Pretend that the maze is life. Is it the same?"

I began chewing on my pinkie as I thought about it, trying to remember everything about my friends. Holmes did exactly the same thing that he would do on the maze. He analyzed life, tried to figure it out beforehand. I took life as it came, made the mistakes, and corrected them.. Kline... Kline did cut corners occasionally. So I guess her maze thing was accurate. And Christine did have a tendency to take the long way just to ensure getting everything right... I stared at Kline in shock.

"Yeah... it is. That's creepy. Where do you come up with this stuff?" I asked. Kline grinned at me.

"It's night. The candles are burning. I'm reading a romance novel, having completely ignored my homework to do so. I figure I'll do it in the morning. I glance towards the floor and see my sisters book of mazes. The philosophy of the maze hits me. It's night. The candles are burning. I have just fought with Christine, Rachel, or Kelsey. I'm depressed, and I think I'm not worthy. The worthy thing hits me. Basically, I do my best thinking at night, with the candles burning," she laughed. I laughed with her. I knew Kline had an odd obsession with candles.

"Wow, I didn't realize that you thought like this," I admitted. Kline smirked at me, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"No one ever does. Pity, really. I could be paid for my thoughts. You know what, I think I'll be a philosopher when I get older," she announced, tossing her hair. I grinned at her.

"You would actually want to do that?" I asked, a bit surprised. She shook her head slowly, thinking about it.

"Nah. I want to be a jazz flautist. I can be a philosopher in my spare time. What about you? What do you want to do?" she asked me, seemingly interested. I blushed in embarrassment. 

"I want to be a doctor, actually."

"That's cool! Why are you blushing?" she questioned, noticing the fact that my face was blazing. I shrugged.

"It's that whole Watson/Holmes thing. Everyone expects Holmes to become a detective, and Watson was a surgeon, so... I don't know, it just sounds really cliche," I offered lamely. Kline shrugged nonchalantly.

"Not a big deal. It's what you want, so take it. No being passive about your future. Look, I ran into Holmes earlier. He wants to talk about the info we got today.. He told me to tell you that we would meet in his room around seven, he would order some food, and we would throw together everything we know," related Kline. I nodded hesitantly. That would mean I would have to see Christine... Kline must have noticed the look on my face, because she started to laugh.

"Do you really think Christine can hold a grudge for that long?" she giggled. I blushed again, ashamed that I couldn't keep my face blank.

"I-I don't know!" I sputtered. "I mean, what's her forgiveness policy?"

"Always forgive, never forget. That kid has the memory of an elephant, I swear. Hey, this is my stop. Go talk to Christine, I'm sure she's in her room by now. Unless she's been murdered," Kline joked. I swatted her.

"Don't say things like that. I'll see you at seven, ok?" I asked. Kline nodded and unlocked her door, disappearing into her small room instantly. I turned to face the doors across the hall, quickly tracking down 211, Christine's room.

It wasn't a very ominous door. It was made of wood, painted white, had a nice door handle. It had a glass peephole too. So why did the darn thing make me so nervous? Slowly I raised my hand and knocked on the wood three times, in an even rhythm. There was no answer. Frowning, I tried again. Still no answer.

I was beginning to feel a sick feeling of dread wash over me. Maybe Kline had been right! Maybe Christine had been murdered. We shouldn't have split up, we should have stuck together and investigated all the groups together... oh, this was all my-

"Jenny? Are you going to move long enough so I can get into my room?" asked a calm voice from behind me. I spun around in shock. Christine stood there, her black clothes illuminating her pale skin more than normal. I gawked at her for a good ten seconds, and then threw my arms around her, hugging her tightly.

"Ack! Ok, I know that you love me. I have every right to be loved. But let go of me, will you? You're cutting off my air supply," she choked out. I let go of her and looked into her eyes, feeling tears welling up. Christine glanced around nervously and began backing up slowly.

"Ok, Jenny, seriously scaring me here. What's your problem, girl?" she asked. I wiped the tears from my eyes quickly and pouted at her.

"I thought you were dead!" I cried. Christine raised an eyebrow and then pushed past me, unlocking her door and going in. I quickly followed.

"Wishful thinking, Jenny. Not quite, unfortunately. I seem to have missed my appointment with the angel of death by a few seconds. But maybe if you had kept hugging me like that for a few seconds longer, I would be gone," Christine remarked, a bit of sarcasm dripping from her voice. I shook my head.

"No, I thought our murderer had killed you. Kline had said that you would probably be back at your room by now, unless you had been killed. When I knocked and got no reply..." I trailed off, feeling foolish. Christine smiled at me as she flopped down on her bed, putting her hands beneath her head. She closed her eyes peacefully and smiled.

"You thought the worst had happened. Don't worry about me, Jenny. I don't think our killer is after someone like me anyway. And if they were, don't you think I could handle them?" joked Christine, her features remarkably calm. I shook my head gravely.

"No, not really. No offense, Christine, but you can't even fend Kline off," I reminded her. Christine opened her eyes and laughed a bit.

"I'm not quite sure who that insult was towards, me or Kline."

"You."

"Ah. Well. I thank you, then. Now come off it, Jenny. What's the real problem?" asked Christine, cutting down on the small talk. I began to play with my black hair, shocked that she didn't remember.

"You told me to come back later, that you had to mull over it?" I whispered hoarsely. Christine studied me thoughtfully, and then she started with remembrance.

"Oh. That. Please, Jenny. I forgave you about that ten minutes after I walked away from you. You know that I always forgive people," reported Christine. I laughed bitterly.

"But you never forget," I persisted. Christine looked at me languidly, her legs drooping over the side of the bed as she stared at me. Then she laughed.

"Kline told you that, didn't she. Always makes me out to be worse than I really am, I swear. Of course I don't forget! You know how funky my mind is. It always remembers the bad things. Good things? Pshaw. Don't get you knickers in a knot about it. Don't seek my approval either; that drives me nuts," Christine stated calmly. I shrugged.

"I don't like people being angry at me."

"No one does. So, why else are you here? You got the shoulders of someone who has something else to say," she challenged. I grinned a bit. Christine was hard to get past sometimes. 

"Meeting tonight in Holmes's room. He's going to order take-out, and we're going to discuss what we discovered today. Around seven," I said, echoing Kline's message to me. Christine blushed suddenly, and nodded.

"Um, yeah... I'll be there. If you'll excuse me, I would like to get freshened up. See you at seven!" called Christine, hastily shoving me out of her door and slamming it in my face. I stared at the wood in surprise. Christine was hiding something.

*************************************************************************************************

"Oh, eww," I muttered, picking apart my egg roll. Kline, who was halfway through hers, looked at me and grinned.

"Come on, Jenny. Live a little. Scarf it," she commanded. I pulled out a piece of shrimp from the egg roll and sneered at it.

"I am not scarfing something that has shrimp in it," I grumbled. Holmes reached over and yanked the shrimp from my fingers, popping it in his mouth instantly. I gaped at him.

"Hey!"

"Well, you certainly weren't going to eat it!"

"It's the principle of the thing," I protested. Christine grinned, chewing on her pizza happily.

"Now, see Jenny? You should have just gotten pizza like I did. Much safer, and you don't have to deal with unknown food. I had a friend who found a cat whisker in their egg roll once," Christine claimed. I felt myself pale, and grabbed a piece of pizza from her box.

"Hey, where's the mushrooms?"

"Oh, gross. Mushrooms are disgusting. Pepperoni is the only way to live, girlfriend," Christine bubbled, removing one of the pepperoni and eating it. Holmes grinned.

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Christine. Mushrooms aren't sanitary," he offered. Kline leaned back in the chair, finishing her egg roll.

"I'm going with my girl Jenny. Mushrooms rock. Pepperoni is not the only way to live; mushrooms are."

I grinned at Kline, and then grabbed the telephone from the cradle, quickly dialing the pizza people and ordering another two pizzas. One with pepperoni, and one with mushrooms. Christine rolled her eyes as she snuggled into the pillow. Holmes cleared his throat.

"Well, as interesting as this conversation about food is, I would suggest that we move on to more important matters. Such as the case. And how we're going to pay for the extra pizza," added Holmes. Kline shrugged and tossed in a ten dollar bill, while Christine added a five. I added another five.

"That should cover it. So. The case. What'd we get today?" I asked. Seeing no volunteers, I grinned.

"Looks like I get to play the role of teacher. Mr. Holmes, please share with the class what you learned from the orchestra," I demanded snootily. Holmes smiled at me, and then nodded.

"Yeth Mith Watthon," he said, faking a lisp. I started giggling, and he immediately dropped it.

"Lisa and Diane were the two trumpet players that had their necks broken. Both were in their senior year of college, majoring in music. They were best friends, and were rarely separated. They were very nice girls, and very proud of the chair positions they had received. However, most of the trumpets didn't like them. Said that they had bribed Sallay to give them first and second chair. A few of the saxophone players felt this way, and most of the French horn players didn't like them either," Holmes finished, flipping through a notebook. I nodded.

"The dancers weren't fond of Diane and Lisa either. Mary Gietzen said that they had a tendency to tick Sallay off, and that she was glad that they were gone. Anastasia Amalkov didn't like them either. There were a few other girls who said that they were all right, but they didn't know much about them," I recalled. Kline and Christine nodded.

"The cast said that they didn't really know any of the orchestra, but they knew that Gina, Lisa, Diane, and the second chair violinist (what was her name?) all had bragged a bit before they were killed. Especially Gina. But otherwise, they couldn't really say why they thought that the girl's had been murdered," Christine replied. Kline shrugged.

"Didn't ask. I didn't even talk to the crew members," Kline declared. Christine turned to look at her, surprise etched on her face.

"What do you mean, you didn't talk to them? You wasted all that time?" Christine asked in disbelief. Kline snorted.

"Oh, please. No, Christine. I _spied_ on them. Found out some interesting yet gross things. For instance, I know why John Goodmena and Sallay Jargin are always sneaking off. They're having an affair... I caught them making out in a closet. Denise was talking to Bubba about Jackie, saying that she didn't know why she disappeared, and that they were going to have to cancel The Nutcracker. Those dancers are going to be ticked..." Kline trailed off, supposedly imagining the dancers revolting against the crew members. Christine smiled gently at Kline and lay back on the bed.

"Nice job."

Holmes stood up and began pacing wildly, running a hand through his hair.

"So, essentially, we still don't have anything. Who else did you interview, Watson?" Holmes inquired, facing me. I thought about it.

"Alexis Victor, who is the first dancer. Melanie Williams, second dancer. Amy Lennox... I think she's eighth or ninth dancer. And who was that clumsy girl...? Oh, yeah. Emily Vouche," I finished. Holmes frowned in concentration and continued to pace.

"Did any of them say that they were glad that the girls were gone?" he asked. I shrugged.

"Most of them said it at one point and time. Melanie said that the girls were dead, so what, and she wished the killer would murder Anastasia Amalkov next. Emily was kind of shy about her opinions, said that she didn't know what to think of the murders. Amy said that the girls obviously were killed for a reason, and that there wasn't a psycho killer running around, and Alexis said that the feeling of danger gave her enough adrenaline to make her dance better," I said, trying to remember all the girls. I had missed most of them, but the most incriminating girls I had managed to remember.

"Who is this Anastasia Amalkov? She doesn't sound very nice," Christine said, standing up on the bed and beginning to bounce on it. I sighed, trying to drag her image into my mind.

"She isn't very nice. She said that she was glad that Gina was dead, that the girl always bragged. I managed to ask her about the other girls, and she said that they deserved it as well. Then she told me to go away, that I was interrupting her practice," I recalled. Holmes frowned.

"We'll have to keep an eye on her. She makes a good suspect. As does Alexis and Melanie. I think we can discard Amy and Emily. Amy just sounds reasonable, and Emily sounds like a follower, if you ask me. So we have three new suspects. Did they have good alibis?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Alexis was with Jackie or her private instructor, she said. But we can't confirm that, because Jackie is gone and she said that her personal instructor had left town. Melanie said that she was alone in her room, and Anastasia said that she was practicing in the theatre. Alone. So none of them have good alibis... but I don't think that Alexis did it," I muttered. Kline looked at me oddly.

"Why not? She had the opportunity, and she certainly had a motive," she reminded me. I shook my head slowly.

"What motive?"

"She wanted to be first dancer. Best way to do that is knock off the first dancer," Kline observed. I didn't agree with her. I just couldn't believe that Alexis would do something like that.

"You guys... come on... if she just wanted to be first dancer, then why didn't she just kill the first dancer and then leave the other victims? It doesn't fit together," I insisted. Christine hopped off the bed and shoved Kline out of the desk, sitting in the chair herself.

"Maybe she had a thirst for blood. You know how it is- once you kill, you can't kill once," preached Christine. I sighed, exasperated.

"No, you guys. Alexis doesn't seem likely." I looked at Holmes for help, but he looked away. He didn't believe me.

"Come on! She didn't want those girls dead!" I shouted. Holmes's head rocketed up as he stared at me.

"Watson, think about it logically. She said herself that she gets a rush of adrenaline from the murders that helps her dance. Couldn't that be her motive? You saw those dancers- most of them are bloodthirsty. They would do anything to be the best. If it comes down to murder, than so be it. They would do it in a heartbeat," he explained to me. I glared at him and sat down.

"Well, I just-"

A rapid knock on the door interrupted me, and I glared at the door. Whoever it was would be getting an earful. Christine jumped over the desk and opened the door slowly.

It was Todd, looking quite urgent. His eyes were wild, and it took him a couple of seconds to give us his message.

"A girl- dead- drowned in her bathtub," he panted. Holmes rushed over and patted him on the shoulder.

"Deep breathes, Todd. Tell us everything that you know," he demanded. Todd breathed for a minute, and then stood up straight.

"They found another dancer about ten minutes ago. She had been drowned in her bathtub. Her name was Alexis Victor, from what they're telling me. Christine was poking around earlier, so I thought you might like to know," he sputtered after a moment or two. I grinned, despite the serious situation.

"Told you she couldn't have done it."

*************************************************************************************************

Alexis Victor didn't look good as a dead body. Her lips were blue, her eyes glossy, and her once lovely skin had become a revolting shade of white. She had been stunning in life. Now she was a mere fragment of that beauty.

Holmes poked around the body, carefully raising her head and studying it, and then observing the bathtub she had been discovered in. There was no blood, unlike all the other victims. This one seemed to be a more urgent killing, one that the murderer didn't have time to create. The style had changed.

"Different killer, maybe?" mused Christine to Kline. They were standing in the doorway of the bathroom, whispering various ideas. Kline had brought up the style change.

"Hard to tell," Kline whispered back. "Our murderer seems a bit unorganized so far. I mean, they have usually made the victims really bloody. This just looks like spur of the moment.

Christine nodded, studying the scene quietly. She seemed harrowed by the death of the person she had been insisting was the murderer only ten minutes ago.

"Maybe she killed herself, in repentance for the murders she committed," Christine suggested. Kline shook her head, her blond hair hitting Christine in the face.

"No. Our murderer, were she to kill herself-"

"Would have made herself bloody. Yeah, I know. I'm stretching here. So sue me," acknowledged Christine sarcastically. Kline grinned and hit her partner lightly over the head.

"Alexis Victor wasn't the murderer, and she wasn't drowned," Holmes announced as he approached us. I looked at him, confused.

"Yes she was. The whole bathtub and being dead part kind of suggests that she was drowned," I murmured. Holmes smiled tightly at me.

"Suggests. There were bruises on her neck. She was strangled, and then left in the water to throw us off course. Poor Todd didn't realize it, not being a medical man," he explained. Kline snorted.

"Or the murdering sort."

"Exactly. Were Todd on our list of suspects, we would most likely discard him," Holmes iterated. Christine raised a finger.

"And why wasn't he on the list in the first place?" she asked, a look of suspicion on her face. Holmes seemed reluctant to answer, but Kline wasn't afraid of Christine's temper.

"Because he looooooovvvvvveeeeee'sssss you!" she howled in mirth. Christine smacked her over the head, and then looked at Holmes.

"Any clues?"

Holmes nodded, suddenly enthusiastic. His eyes glimmered wildly as he raised up a piece of tape.

"A partial fingerprint. Very partial, only a sliver of the index finger, but it shows that our murderer is beginning to get careless. We may have this case solved by the time the production opens," Holmes stated, the excited look remaining in his eyes. Christine and Kline exchanged a glance, their eyebrows raised.

"Let us not be too hopeful. To the room... we have much to discuss!" Kline declared.

****

Darn that was a long chapter. One of my longest yet... ever. It is the longest. Please review, I would much appreciate it. Thanks to those of you who did review- your reviews mean so much to me. If you're going to criticize me, please do it nicely. My constitution isn't strong enough to take insults. **Thanks much!**


	8. Near Miss

__

Moonrose: My dears, I descend from the heavens to grant you the joy of seeing me in person! And to speak to you as though I were mortal, as well, of course. Which, might I add, I'm not.

(Harness holding Moonrose suddenly snaps, and she spirals

back down to the ground.)

Moonrose: Ow... ok, I'm perfectly human. But I have a request for the other humans who read my stories. REVIEW, DARN IT!!! I'm only human, and I need praise and loving to keep going. And when I only get two reviews that praise me, I feel very discouraged. As much as I hate to do this, I will install a new rule. If I do not get 5 reviews, I will not post the next chapter. Harsh, is it not? I don't care if you pull a hobo off of the streets to review, but I want reviews. Quick, man, if you love me! See, look at that, I'm quoting the original Sherlock Holmes! What does that tell you? I'm desperate. Please review.

And those of you who have reviewed so far, you get a nice cookie. No, even better, a cake.

This a cake. Pretend, folks.

Also, this chapter has a few swear words in it. If you don't like them, just skip them or substitute not-so-sweary words in. And the disclaimer? If I owned Holmes, Watson, and Holmes! The Musical, do you really think I would be writing lowly fanfiction? I think not, dears. Christine and Kline are mine, though. And I love them to pieces.

This chapter is rated R, for excessive gore.

Chapter Whatever: Near Miss

I yawned quietly and buried my head further into the soft pillow, breathing in the familiar scent of... green tea? My pillow didn't smell like green tea, it smelled like lilacs. So why did this one smell of green tea?

I sat up quickly, staring at the pillow. It looked exactly like mine. It felt exactly like mine. So why the heck did it smell of some Japanese tea that I hated? A sharp snort alerted me as to the situation, and I glanced over to the desk.

Christine and Kline were slumped over it. It had been Kline who snorted, apparently murmuring something in her sleep. I was in Christine's room, I realized slowly. That was why the pillow smelled like green tea. Christine used green tea shampoo. I rubbed my temple wearily. I always had been rather slow on my feet in the mornings.

I kicked the covers off of my legs and crawled out of the bed, sniffing a bit and continuing to rub my eyes. I had an eyelash digging into my left eye, and that was bugging me a bit. Walking over, I tapped Kline gently on the shoulder. Her eyes snapped open, her alarming sky blue eyes piercing me with their gaze. Her hand shot forward, grabbing my wrist. I let a little shout of shock slip from my lips as Kline shoved me on top of the bed, looking wild. I stared at her in horror, thinking she was going to kill me, when she relaxed.

"Oh. It's you. Morning, Jenny. Sorry about that, you startled me," Kline apologized, offering me a hand. I accepted it, and she helped me to my feet. I looked at her, laughing a bit.

"You're worse than Christine," I whispered, gesturing to her sleeping partner. Kline looked over at Christine, and then shook her head frantically.

"Take it back! Take it back, Jennifer Anne Watson! That is the worst insult you could ever inflict upon me," she hissed, obviously teasing. Christine sniffed from her position at the desk, raising her head a bit, her own dark blue eyes peering out from the mass of her brown hair.

"Heard that, you bully. Good morning, Jenny. Sleep well?" she yawned, shoving her hair out of her eyes. I shrugged.

"I guess. How the heck did I get in your bed? Last thing I remember was leaning against the desk," I commented, recalling the very vague memory. Kline shrugged and went looking for her shoes.

"Holmes put you there. You fell asleep, I guess."

I tossed her a shoe absentmindedly, trying desperately to recall what had happened the night before.

"Holmes put me there?" I asked. Christine nodded and handed Kline her other shoe, which she accepted gratefully.

"Yeah."

"And then went to his own room?"

Kline looked up from her laces. "Well, he made passionate love to you first, but otherwise, yeah."

I scowled at her, sitting on the edge of the desk, and then wincing.

"Oh, eww... Christine, you drooled on the desk," I whined. Christine wiped her mouth, shrugging.

"Can you blame me?"

"Yes."

"Shut up."

Kline looked at us as she grabbed her brush, running it through the knots in her long blond hair.

"You two are like children," she snorted. I shoved past her.

"Like you're any better," I laughed. Kline rolled her eyes at me as I opened the door.

"Hey, look, I'm going to take a shower in my own room. I'll see you in a bit?" I asked. Christine lay back down on her bed, nodding sleepily. Kline just shrugged, mumbling some nonsense about her hair. I sighed and quietly left the room, heading for my own.

The next few moments were a complete blur, even to this day. I distinctly remember humming a tune from the show (Nothing More, sung by Holmes and Elizabeth), and then leaning against the wall, attempting to tie my shoe. Then, a sharp sound, and looking up to see Kline hurtling towards me.

"Get down!" she bellowed, slamming into me at full force. I collapsed under her weight, to hear a loud, sharp BANG! It sounded like a gunshot, I realized slowly. Kline stared at me, and then jumped up.

"Shit! Christine, follow her!" I remember her screaming. I vaguely recall the dark shape of Christine bursting out of her hotel room and sprinting after another shape, which seemed to remind me of my old porcelain doll I had. I stared dully up at Kline as she hulled me to my feet.

"Are you ok? Jenny, answer me, damn it! Did the bullet hit you?" she shrieked. I looked dumbly at her familiar face, and then began giggling.

"You have pretty eyes," I snickered. Kline grabbed my wrist, shaking it violently. I snapped out of my reverie and managed to refocus my eyes, to see Kline's gazing at me, looking quite fearful. I sniffed and nodded.

"It didn't hit me. I'm fine," I muttered. Kline sighed in relief and then led me to another door, which she slammed her fist on rapidly. I heard a groan from inside as the door swung open. Holmes stood there, looking quite suave in his pajamas.

"What is it, Kline? And what was that noise?" he asked, not noticing me yet. Kline shoved past Holmes, leading me into his room and shoving me down on the bed for the second time that day. Holmes looked at her in confusion, blinking.

"Someone tried to kill her, Sherlock. That noise was a gunshot," Kline said matter-of-factly. Holmes recoiled in shock, and then rushed by my side, holding my head in his hands.

"Are you all right, Watson? Dear Lord, tell me it didn't hit you," he pleaded. I smiled faintly, touching his hand.

"I'm fine, Holmes. It missed, thanks to Kline here," I whispered, gesturing at my blond friend, who was pacing by the bedside. Holmes sighed in relief, taking my hand in his own, and then looking sharply at Kline.

"And the murderer?" he asked. Kline glanced at him, barely sparing him a breath.

"Christine is after her."

Holmes looked at Kline skeptically, with a bit of worry in his eyes. "But if our assassin has a gun...?"

Kline swore violently and then threw Holmes' door open and ran out of the room as though the hounds from hell were after her. Holmes squeezed my hand tightly, and I squeezed back. He looked at me with concern.

"Are you sure you're all right?" asked Holmes, playing with my hair. I shook my head.

"I'm scared. I mean, since when have I been specifically targeted? Without the intent of hurting me to get to you? It's a terrifying thought..." I choked, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. Holmes smiled weakly.

"Well, at least someone has finally noticed you," he reminded me, a weak attempt at humor. I barely cracked a smile.

"I would prefer to remain the background. You and Kline and Christine are the ones that dazzle. I like going unnoticed. I would prefer to remain your... biographer and girlfriend," I decided. Holmes smirked.

"Biographer?"

"Well, the greatx3 grandson of the famous Sherlock Holmes deserves his own book series, don't you think?"

"I prefer my anonymity."

At that moment, the door to Holmes' room was thrown open and Kline dragged a very unhappy looking Christine into the room. They seemed to be in a fierce quarrel, and didn't take notice of us as they shouted at each other.

"Damn it, Kline! You should have known that I had no chance of catching her. So don't go and blame it all on me!" yelled Christine, pulling her wrist out of Kline's hand. Kline swiveled around, facing her.

"You could have done better! There is no reason you couldn't have caught her! We nearly lost Jenny because of your stupidity!" Kline bellowed back, punctuating her sentences with wild gestures. Christine snagged Kline's hand from the air, yanking her friend close to her, dropping her voice into something that dimly resembled a growl.

"If you _ever_ insinuate such things again I will snap your head off of your shoulders. It is as much your mistake as it is mine," she snarled. Kline ripped her hand out of Christine's grasp and turned to look at me and Holmes, whom I'm sure had a similar look of shock on his face.

"Hey. Are you ok, Jenny?" questioned Kline, smiling feebly. I blinked a few times, and then nodded.

"And what, pray tell, was that all about?" Holmes asked, sounding amused and stunned at the same time. Christine scoffed haughtily and took a seat on the radiator, causing Kline to glare at her.

"A few mistakes on our part. I sent dearest Christine after our assassin, who failed to catch her. Plus, there were some things before that," Kline said in disgust. Christine glared at Kline and shook her head.

"You know perfectly well that I am so out of shape that I couldn't have caught her, even if I died trying. As for the latter, that was right in front of your nose as well. You should blame yourself as well. And it wasn't perfect, we still have a few kinks to work out," snapped Christine. I raised my hand.

"Mind telling us who can't mind read what you're talking about?" I inquired thoughtfully, trying to ignore the quibbling of Kline and Christine. Christine dipped a hand into her pocket, removing a piece of paper from it. She wiped some drool off of it and tossed it to Holmes, who smiled grimly.

"Your nights work, Christine. A very nice piece it is. Very wet," he commented dryly. Christine sneered at him, obviously not in a good mood. He scanned the piece of paper, and then looked back at Christine, who was looking out the window in a very determined fashion. Scowling, he looked at Kline for explanation.

"Yeah, it's right, Sherlock. No doubts there. It was so blatantly obvious, I can't believe we didn't notice it before," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. I sighed.

"What?" 

Holmes handed me the piece of paper, and I stared at it in horror.

It included the names of all the girls that were killed, including their chair positions. A first chair was killed first, then a second and third. Then a second, and then a first. No fourths, nothing lower than third chair. There was a pattern, too... a tidal wave, it would seem. A second would have to be the next to go in the pattern. I paled instantly, regretting my high chair placement.

"Oh god. I think I'm going to be sick," I choked, feeling the bile raising in my throat. Holmes immediately pulled me off the bed, leading me to the bathroom. I made it just in time, heaving my stomach's contents into the porcelain toilet. Holmes pulled back my hair as I vomited, gently rubbing my back. When I was done, he handed me a glass of water, which I sipped thankfully. He helped me back into his bed, sitting nearby. Christine looked grimly at me, her features drawn.

"Feeling better?" she asked softly. I shook my head and rubbed my head.

"I can't believe I was the killer's target."

"She needed a second chair. She knew you were poking around. You were the logical choice," Kline spouted off. Holmes started, looking at her in amazement.

"You know for sure it's a female?" he asked. Kline nodded.

"I didn't see her face, but when she was fleeing, I saw her hair. It was in a bun, like a dancer," Kline stated. I brightened. That was why the killer had reminded me of my old porcelain doll! Her hair had been in a neat bun, just like a ballet dancer.

"It's a dancer! The killer is a dancer," I blurted. Holmes nodded, his eyes gleaming wildly.

"This is excellent! We finally know some solid information. Not like it really narrows our search down... there are a lot of dancers," he said, trailing off in thought. I recoiled in horror.

"You mean that I interviewed the murderer last night?" I gasped, stunned. Christine nodded quietly.

"That must have been when she chose you for her next victim," she whispered. Kline smiled thinly at Christine, nodding.

"Of course. It's so obvious... now we just have to figure out which dancer of fifty-nine is the killer," she hissed, disappearing into thought.

"Fifty-seven," I corrected her. Kline glanced up, surprise etched across her face.

"Two are guys."

"Ah."

There was a moment of tense silence in the room while we all thought about the recent turn of events. I rubbed my stomach absentmindedly, a reminder of the last time I had gotten personally involved in a case. Holmes noticed my nervous movement, and patted me on the arm.

"Don't worry about it. We'll catch her," he whispered to me. Christine shot to her feet quite suddenly, crossing the floor, and leaving the room. Kline watched her leave, and then slammed the door behind her.

"Hope she goes off to think about what she did," Kline sniffed indignantly. Holmes looked at her curiously.

"What is wrong with you, Kline? You're being a bit unfair to Christine, don't you think?" he asked, looking at her with that horrible 'know-it-all' look he wore sometimes. Kline shrugged, leaning against the door.

"She'll get over it. Besides, this might remind her not to screw up next time," she said. I frowned at her.

"Come on, you're being kind of harsh. You made the same mistakes," I reminded her. Kline looked sharply at me.

"I didn't let the villain go."

With that, Kline spun on heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her. I stared after her, wanting to follow, but not feeling up to talking to a furious Kline. Holmes sighed and began pacing. I followed his movements for a few minutes, and then interrupted him.

"Holmes?"

"Hmm?"

"What is the killer going to do now that they didn't manage to kill me?"

Holmes looked at me sharply, his eyes boring into me. Finally, he relaxed and sat down at his desk, playing with a piece of paper quietly.

"Go after you again, or kill someone else. I would put my bets on the latter."

I nodded, taking a deep breath. Hesitantly, I stood up. Holmes glanced at me.

"Where are you going?" he asked me. I shrugged.

"For a walk. I'm going to see if I can be useful," I told him. Holmes nodded.

"Find Christine or Kline and have them accompany you. I don't want you to get hurt," insisted Holmes. I sighed.

"Very well," I acknowledged. He stared at his desk as I left.

Walking out in the halls, I glanced at the wall. The plaster had a huge dent in it, and I looked at it curiously. A bullet was lodged their, the front having shattered on impact. I winced at the thought of such a bullet hitting me. A soft nose, it would seem. I didn't know anything about guns or bullets, though, so I couldn't make any guesses.

A pale hand reached over my shoulder, holding a pair of tweezers. It pulled the bullet out, and I turned around to face Christine, who had her lips pursed in an agitated manner as she studied the bullet.

"A soft nose. It looks like it could be made of lead... but that can't be, can it? They don't make such bullets, do they?" she wondered out loud. After a second, she put the shattered bullet into an envelope and smiled thinly at me.

"Hello Jenny. Feeling any better?" she asked me. I shrugged.

"Not really. But I don't feel like talking about it. Mind telling me what was going on between you and Kline?" I asked. Christine's dark blue eyes glared at me, sparkling like deadly diamonds. I chuckled unconvincingly. She relaxed and began walking down the hall, and I followed her.

"We're just a bit edgy. Seeing friends get attacked has a tendency to do that."

"So you're not in one of your moods?"

Christine laughed. "No. Not at all. We'll be best friends again in about an hour. We just need some time apart," she explained. I nodded slowly and watched as she stared at the ground in front of the stairs. Reaching in her shirt, she pulled out her magnifying glass. I began giggling, remembering the first time I had seen that horrible device. Christine glanced at me, an eyebrow raised, and then she turned back to her work. She looked like an odd bloodhound, down on her hands and knees, studying the ground like that. After a moment or two, she uttered a cry of triumph.

"Magnificent! I am a genius! All must praise me," she cried joyously, scooping something into an envelope. I snickered.

"All must praise you? Really, Christine, don't you think you're being a bit egotistical?" I questioned her jokingly. A sardonic look crossed her face as she stood up.

"Dried blood. Presumably from the killer's shoes."

"And what does this tell us?"

"Absolutely nothing. It just means that we can track her shoes."

"Ah."

Christine grinned at me and began walking back down the hall, humming merrily to herself. I rolled my eyes and followed her, joining in the merry tune.

"Oh God!" someone yelled suddenly. Christine's head shot up, surprise and confusion on her face. A second passed when Kline came stumbling out from door, clutching her mouth and stomach. She slammed the door behind her and grabbed Christine.

"Oh dear Lord... I've never seen anything so horrific," she muttered, pulling Christine into a hug. Christine looked at her, stunned, but hugged her back, the blue eyes darting around wildly.

"Kline, what is it?" she asked. I admit, I was very curious to see what would cause Kline to be so demonstrative about her feelings. Kline choked back a sob.

"Jackie LeSalle... in my room," she sobbed, letting a tear slip down her cheek. I saw Christine shudder, and I could barely repress one myself. Kline crying was just scary. She never cried, not even when confronted with death.

"So?" I asked, confused about why Jackie LeSalle would cause Kline to cry. Kline shook her head.

"Jackie is dead. Very, very dead," she stammered. Christine shoved Kline aside, right into my arms. I tried to console a fully hysterical Kline as Christine opened the door- and immediately threw up. Even though I couldn't see the room, the stench alone was enough to make me feel ill all over again. Christine turned around slowly, putting a hand on Kline's shoulder. Her face was very pale, with a greenish tinge.

"Kline, come with me. Jenny, don't allow anyone into that room. If you look in there, be prepared. I'm getting Sherlock," she said calmly. Too calmly. I watched as she led a crying Kline away, and then glanced into the room. I barely managed to stop a scream from escaping my throat.

Jackie LeSalle's torso hung from the ceiling fan. And only her torso and head. Her arms were missing, brutally chopped off, as were her legs. Though it wasn't a mystery to figure out where they were. They were all over the room. And arm was spread grotesquely on the bed, the limb clutching at the pillow, bent at an unnatural angle. The other arm was hanging from the windowsill. The two legs were propped up against the desk. The torso had vertical slashes in it, and Jackie's head lolled to the side eerily, a sure sign her neck had been broken before she had been strung up like that.

But, in many ways, that wasn't even close to the worst part. I read the words that had been written on the wall- in blood.

**"Meddling Detectives,**

Stay away. I will not stop my revenge. This is your last warning. Leave me alone. Unless you want someone you care about killed in this way."

I winced and turned away, barely stopping myself from retching all over the place. Holmes was there, suddenly, and he shoved me away. I put my head against the cool wall, trying to stop the food from leaving my stomach. Christine took my hand and led me away, very quietly, not saying anything.

******************************************************************************************

"She is going mad, quite slowly, I think," Holmes announced, sipping some hot tea. He and I sat together on the radiator. The window rattled from behind us, sounds of the city creating eerie sound effects. Kline, who had calmed down over the past seven hours, nodded. She looked out into the dark night before granting us a response.

"She has to be, to do that. I mean, her other murders have been bloody. But that... that was vicious. Artistic, in a way," she reported. Christine nodded, fiddling with her hair.

"And now we have a motive. Revenge. It says so quite clearly," Christine reminded us. I nodded, taking a large swallow of my own tea.

"She seems to believe she has warned us before, too," I told them, trying to add my own thoughts. Christine smiled, nodding.

"In her own mind, she did. She shot at you."

"With the intent to kill. I doubt that that should constitute as a warning."

"To her, it is."

"Why do we care what she thinks?" I asked impatiently. Kline smiled at me.

"Because if we don't know what she thinks, we can't know how she thinks, and hence we can't figure out what she's going to do next. But we do know that she's becoming more agitated. Her previous murders were much cleaner. Did you see the messy cutting of Jackie's body? It wasn't done with the same type of knife as before. I would say that our killer ran out of sharp knives, and had to use a dull knife on Jackie," commented Kline, standing and beginning to pace. Holmes nodded, joining her in pacing.

"She knows we're closing the nets on her. She's warning us, and yet trying to scare us off at the same time. She fears us, in a way. We're a threat. She must think that we know more than we're letting on," he said, running a hand through his hair. Kline nodded, and so did Christine, who managed to compose herself and not pace, much to my relief.

"She'll become more sloppy. She has to. She's scared, she's like she's caught in a trap. A lion who is caught doesn't kill in his neat and graceful way. He just kills to protect himself. Our killer is probably the same way. She'll get rid of her standards. The problem is, that will lead to more murders. Before she had planned them, to some degree," I observed. Holmes nodded, accepting my ideas.

"The problem with that is that a trapped animal becomes unpredictable," Christine muttered, half to herself. Holmes let out a grunt of exasperation, and sat down in a huff.

"We're working in the dark! This killer is completely unpredictable. We know who she targets, but what she's going to do and when she'll next move is a complete guess. I think it's a guess for our killer as well. I am quite ready to believe that she's mentally unstable. But it takes an organized mind to commit such crimes. We can't even make a criminal profile for the murderer. This case is completely exhausting and exasperating!" Holmes exclaimed, practically shouting. I put a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.

With a deafening crash, the window in Holmes' room shattered, glass fragments flying everywhere. I dove to the ground, protecting my head desperately. The glass tumbled on top of me, burying Holmes and I. I let out a small shriek as the glass cut me. I felt a bit of blood trickle into my mouth.

A hand shot down, pulling me out of my glass prison. It was careful to make sure I didn't hurt myself as it drew me to my feet. Christine glanced at me, and then helped Holmes to his feet. Kline wasn't in the room, but a new wall decoration was. An arrow. With a note attached to it. Holmes, careful to avoid the glass, dashed over and carefully removed the note.

**Your last warning. Next time, my arrow won't miss.**

Holmes set the note on the bed stand, glancing at me and wiping some blood off of his face. Christine was by his side in an instant, with a first aid kit, using some antibacterial stuff on his various cuts. It didn't take long to clean him up, and soon Christine turned to me and began mopping up the blood on my face.

"Where's Kline?" I asked, a bit shakily. She pointed distractedly out the window, forcing me to sit down while she taped gauze onto my hands, which had gotten the worst of the cuts. I slapped her away, looking at her accusingly.

"Shouldn't you take care of yourself?" I asked angrily. Christine frowned at me.

"What are you talking about? You're the one hurt, not me," she snapped. I pointed at her shoulder, where she looked down curiously. A large chunk of glass was stuck there. A small frown crossed her lips, and she yanked it out. Her black shirt turned a curious mud color as some blood began to flow. She pulled back the shoulder of her shirt, and shook her head.

"Just a small cut. You are much more serious than I am. Now sit still!" she demanded, pushing on my shoulders until I sat down on the floor far away from the window. She finished patching me up, and I'm sure that I looked more like a mummy than I did a human, but Christine didn't seem to care. 

Holmes was looking out the window, trying to see someone. I joined him, but couldn't see anyone.

"Where did you say Kline went?" he asked, his voice fairly distant.

"She jumped out of the window. I think she is tracking the murderer," Christine replied, peering over his shoulder. Holmes cursed and then climbed out the window himself. 

"Holmes!" I protested. We were only on the second story, but it could be quite a fall. Christine shook her head, beginning to look upset.

"There's an overhang right there. He can just slide right to the ground. Come on, let's follow him," she said, climbing out the window herself. I sighed and climbed out the window after her.

Christine had been right, of course. I slid quietly to the ground, landing softly next to Christine. Holmes was already halfway down the street, pausing occasionally to look at the ground. Christine grabbed my hand and dragged me after her, chasing after Holmes.

I followed obediently, wondering why Holmes had cursed so angrily, and why Christine looked so frantic. After a second, it hit me.

The killer had said that if we didn't stay out of her way, one of us would end up just like Jackie. Had the arrow merely been a way to lure one of us out of the hotel? If so, it had worked.

I had to work very hard to keep up with Christine who, despite all her complaints, was a very fast runner. Not nearly as fast as Holmes, but much quicker than I could have ever hoped to be. The chilly winter air made needles prick into my lungs, and the fog that was slowly covering the London ground wasn't exactly helping either. Christine's perfect vision was the only thing that kept us in line with Holmes, and I certainly would have gotten lost had she not have been clutching my hand like a life preserver.

But slowly and surely, we slowed down. Christine's sprint slowed to a jog, and her jog finally gave way to a fast walk. Her and I were breathing heavily, struggling to catch our breath. I shivered involuntarily, knowing that the temperature was quite cold. Christine dipped her hand into her pockets, pulling out a pair of gloves, which she tossed to me. I accepted them happily.

There was no sign of Holmes. Christine was looking more frantic than before, her breath catching in her throat every five paces or so. I watched as her eyes darted back and forth, eying the buildings around us with suspicion. We were in a business district, but she was acting like our murderer was going to jump out at any moment. And there still wasn't any sign that Holmes had been there. Or Kline.

"We're lost," I declared after a moment's silence. Christine looked sharply at me, her eyes narrowing.

"Nonsense. I know exactly where we are. Mind you, I have no idea where Holmes and Kline are, but we are not lost," she shot back. But I could see that, despite her playful jabs, she was getting quite worried. I bit my lip, my lungs shuddering as I took a deep breath.

"Should we call for them?" I asked. Christine shook her head violently, her hair nearly hitting me in the face.

"No. That would attract attention. We need to lie low. Our killer is quite serious. If she finds us, she will not hesitate to kill us," she said quietly. I stared at her in horror.

"Holmes... Kline!" I whispered fiercely. Christine just looked at me, and I felt my panic increasing. I grabbed Christine's icy hand and squeezed it. To my relief, she squeezed back. I felt a twinge of deja vu, remembering that Holmes had done the same thing earlier that morning.

Hand in hand, we made our way down the chilly streets. The pavement (AN- no clue what the roads in London are like) had small puddles on it, from the recent rain, which we splashed through with no hesitation. The moon had long since rose, now hanging lazily in the lower part of the sky. Stars twinkled merrily, and the fog had become quite dense since we had left. The lights destroyed the shadows every once in a while, and we passed the occasional stranger, most of whom carried an umbrella. Our breath fogged each time we breathed, and I shivered unhappily. In the distance, I saw rain clouds gathering and heading towards us. Still, we carried on.

Christine stopped suddenly, looking at me.

"You once told me about Raze and the rest of the Baker Street Irregulars, right?" she asked sharply. I nodded, and it dawned upon me.

"Come on! There home isn't too far from here. A good mile."

"A mile? Damn it! We can't wait that long. Here, take this," she said, shoving some pound notes into my hands. I looked at her, and the half smile that Christine usually wore met my eyes.

"Hail a cab and go the Irregulars home. I'll stay here. Get them and bring them here. All of them," she said. I hesitated, and Christine shook her head. "I'll be fine. Go."

I nodded instantly and rushed away, shouting for a cab.

******************************************************************************************

"Let me in! Let me in!" I screamed, pounding on the makeshift door that had been securely bolted for the night. I couldn't remember the password, much to my dismay, and had to settle with beating the door as hard as I could.

"It's Jenny Watson! Holmes is in danger!" I cried. The door flew open instantly, a worried looking Raze wearing nothing but a bra and jeans gazing at me. I covered my eyes instantly, not one for seeing a woman in her undergarments.

"Wots this about Mister 'Olmes?" she asked. I sighed.

"Drop the accent, Raze. Get the entire gang and get dressed- Holmes is in danger, along with a good friend of mine. We need your help," I snapped. Raze disappeared, and within a minute the rest of the Baker Street Irregulars stood before me, ready to pile into the cab.

"Hey! I can't take that many people!" the cab driver shouted indignantly as we piled into the car. 

"Extra money if you do," I yelled in his ear. His protests ended immediately, and we sped off.

******************************************************************************************

Christine stood by the light pole as we piled out of the cab. I tossed the money to the cab driver, who accepted it greedily and drove off. Christine nodded at me, thanking me in her own way.

"Right. Listen up, then. Holmes and Kline- a friend of mine and Jenny's- are after a killer. We can't find them, we lost them. We need your help to track them down. You know London better than I do, and most likely better than Jenny does. I propose we split up, and whoever finds Holmes and Kline first come and tell us where they were, while one of you follows them," Christine spat out rapidly. Thomas and Raze, the leaders of the group, nodded. The glanced at the younger children, and within a few minutes, we were off.

Christine and I headed off in the same direction as before, except twice as fast now. Panic was beginning to tug at our hearts, and we were seriously getting worried now. It had been an hour and a half since Holmes' window had been shattered, and we couldn't even possibly imagine that they had been taking by our sadistic killer. At least, we didn't want to imagine. It was too horrific to think about. All I could see was Jackie LeSalle's head and torso swinging in an invisible wind, her limbs spread out in that macabre way. Even Inspector Lestrade had been horrified, announcing it as one of the worst murder cases he had ever seen.

Christine and I stood side by side as we disappeared further and further into the depths of London. We were at least three miles away from the hotel.

"Christine, I can't imagine Holmes, Kline, or the killer wandering this far from the hotel," I said after an hour of silence. Christine glanced at me and nodded.

"I know. Let's go back, get some rest while we can," she sighed. Using my fairly useless talents, I hailed a cab immediately, and we climbed in, tiredly ordering him to take us to our hotel.

******************************************************************************************

It was 3 am, and I was still awake, I thought dimly to myself. My fingers began playing with the sheets as I listened for any sound of a returning Holmes or Kline. Preferably, Holmes AND Kline. But no sound met my ears.

Suddenly, my door swung open, and I let out a tiny scream. But the figure shushed me, and I soon realized it was Christine, a blanket wrapped around her and her arms clutching a pillow.

"I can't sleep," she said softly. I sighed.

"Neither can I," I replied. She closed the door behind her and padded over to my bedside, her black pajamas making her pale skin stick out in the dark room.

"Look, do you mind if I crash right here?" she asked, gesturing towards the floor. I shrugged.

"Sure, whatever floats your boat. I doubt it will help, though," I reminded her. Christine just nodded and spread her blanket on the ground. But before either of us could say anything, my door crashed open again. Christine jumped to her feet, and even I sat up straight.

"Watson? Christine?" came a very familiar voice. I let out a cry of joy and pounced forward, engulfing Holmes into my arms. He hugged me back, muttering soothing words into my ear. I sniffled a bit, clutching him to me. But Christine didn't seem to share my sentiments. She stood right where she was, staring at Holmes, her eyes wide.

"Kline?" she gasped out, her voice oddly choked. Holmes tensed suddenly, and he took a deep breath.

"I found this," he said by way of explanation, handing Christine something. She looked at it, and then dissolved into hoarse sobs, her small frame slipping to the ground. The piece of paper Holmes had handed her floated easily to the floor, and I quickly picked it up, reading it.

It was a simple note, only three words.

**She is mine.**

Christine's sobs filled the room as the icy hand of fear clenched my heart and squeezed.

__

Voila! My masterpiece! If you do not review, I will shoot you. Or worse, leave you like Jackie.

And I'm sorry that the rating had to change to R. I didn't mean for it to turn out so gruesome. That part was an accident. Everything else was completely on purpose.

So, who is the murderer? We will find out next chapter, maybe. Good luck...


	9. Opening Night

I'm starting to write this the same day as I posted "Near Miss", so I can't complain about reviews... yet. But I will, I have a feeling. But I'm going to start working, and incorporate complaints and stuff later. What can I say, I'm a manic-writer. Kinda like manic-depressive, except without the depression.

And a new feature, everyone! Personal comments to all reviewers!

**__**

rhodesia: I thank you, first for being my first reviewer of the last chapter, and second for your nice compliments. I'm easily pleased. For your comments, you receive @--%---- It's a Moonrose, my own specialty!

**__**

Anastacia: I'm glad you like the dialogues- I sometimes feel that they're not very realistic. Thanks for reviewing, and correcting my Russian- shows you how much I know.

**__**

Alex Moolight: You think that my story is sooooooooooo goood, huh? Thanks!

**__**

Kenta Divina: If you do post your SH story, I'll read and review it! I think that SH stories are the hardest to write- the require a lot of insight and intelligence. I hope nobody killed you on the way to Orchestra!

**__**

Cecilia Carlton: My mind is trapped in Victoria England also... don't feel bad. You want a cookie... sure, I would give you one. But it's a computer, so just pretend to taste the yummyful chocolate chips in your mouth.

**__**

Pinkpanther: Hmm, to kill Kline off, or to not kill Kline off, that is the question... she does test my nerves at time, she would do well in the afterlife... you'll just have to wait and see! Also, after I finish the sequel to this story, I will gladly write up the mini-adventures that Holmes and Watson embarked upon.

Chapter Idon'tknowwhat: Opening Night

It had been an entire week since Kline had disappeared.

A week of terror, anger, and extreme depression.

A week that I can only hope my friends and I never have to repeat.

The Nutcracker was cancelled, of course. With the death of Jackie LeSalle, no one could direct them in their dance moves. The dancers had come very close to revolting against Victor Joecano and Jon Goodmena, but Sallay managed to stop them with a few well-chosen words. It was with heavy hearts that the dancers slunk away.

Not all of them left, of course. Anastasia Amalkova (AN- thanks to for the correction!) remained, as did Melanie Williams, Emily Vouche, Judith Beaman, and Amy Lennox. Not to mention a few other dancers, ones that I didn't remember the names to. Holmes was near giddy when he discovered who stayed. Melanie and Anastasia were our main suspects. Anastasia had hated everyone who ended up being killed, and Melanie was just nasty.

When I woke up that day (in my own room, for once), I heard the excited buzz of a few actors, and many instrumentalists. I couldn't understand why they were interrupting my sleep, until I glanced at the calendar that I had hung on my door. Circled in red was the February 1st. Opening night. My stomach clenched up with fear and excitement, and I quickly got out of bed.

Changing as fast as I could, I burst out of my hotel room and dashed down to Holmes' room, to see if he was as excited as I. I knew I shouldn't feel nearly so excited, what with Kline missing and all, but I couldn't help it. I knew we would get Kline back. After all, we were the good guys. The good guys always triumphed, right?

I stopped in front of Holmes' new room, hitting the door solidly with my fist. At first, there was no answer, and I wondered if Holmes was still asleep. But then a very female voice commanded me to come in. Normally, I would have gotten very angry that another girl was in Holmes' room. But I recognized the melancholy tones that Christine's voice had taken on in the last few days. I opened the door and stepped in, carefully shutting it behind me.

Holmes' new room had a lovely bar, which was the hotel manager's way of compensating for the damage. Christine was sitting on top of the bar, one leg bent beneath her while the other was balancing a cup of tea on it.

"Hey," she said quietly, smiling at me. I waved and sat down in one of the stools, glancing around.

"Hey. Where's Holmes?" I asked. Christine handed me a note, and I felt a brief adrenaline rush. Notes had been nothing but threats for the past few days, and I was scared to open it. Christine must have sensed my hesitation and fear, because she laughed, nearly upsetting her tea.

"It's from Holmes, don't worry."

I grinned at her and opened the note, reading it swiftly.

_Watson- Am interviewing the remaining dancers. Wait in my hotel room._

I glanced up at Christine, who was sipping the green tea with surprising gentleness.

"Did you get one too?" I asked. Christine nodded, and then put her tea aside.

"Yeah. Mine was shorter, though. It just told me to wait in his hotel room. Guess he puts more effort in for his girlfriend," she teased, winking. I rolled my eyes.

"Todd would do the same for you."

Christine glared at me, sniffing in mock anger.

"Todd is not my boyfriend."

"Yeah, that's not what I've heard. I finally figured out what you blushed about when I told you about the meeting in Holmes' room about a week ago (AN- Dance Moves Missing). You interviewed the actors and then went out with Todd. Dancing, from what I hear. And what about at the Costume Ball? He asked you to dance, and you accepted. You love him, don't you?" I asked, pressing her for answers. Christine stood up on the bar, straightening her black leggings and then jumping off.

"Well?" I persisted. Christine looked at my, one eyebrow raised.

"Love is purely a chemical thing," she retorted.

"A chemical thing..." I echoed in disbelief. "Fine then. You think he's hot."

Christine looked at me, her expression telling me she clearly did not. But I wasn't going to give up.

"Ok, you don't think he's hot. I don't blame you. He is kind of cute, though... but that's not the point. You have a crush on him. You think he's sweet. Admit it!" I challenged. Christine merely yawned, falling back on Holmes' bed.

"He's sweet. I didn't say anything about loving him, though, or having a crush on him," she reminded me. I rolled my eyes and hopped onto the bed, bouncing up and down.

"Sometimes saying nothing says more than all the words in the world," I retaliated. Christine glared at me again.

"J-J-Jenny! S-S-Stop that infernal b-b-b-b-bouncing!" she shrieked. I giggled and just bounced harder. Christine's hand shot out and she grabbed my ankle, causing me to trip and fall on top of her. Of course, Holmes had to chose just that moment to enter.

"Is my girlfriend hitting on her friend? Can I believe my eyes?" Holmes asked, a familiar smirk working it's way onto his mouth. I scrambled off of Christine as she shoved me away, and I smiled sweetly at Holmes.

"It's not what it seems. Well, it would have been, but you interrupted us, so..." I joked. Christine smacked me over the head and looked at Holmes expectantly.

"Well? Any new information?" she asked urgently. Holmes' smile fell away, and he shook his head.

"None. I'm sorry, Christine, but... the dancers didn't offer anything productive. I didn't even get a clue from them," he reported bitterly. I saw Christine's eyes darken with dismay, and I put a hand on her shoulder.

"We'll get her back, Christine, I promise," I muttered soothingly in her ear. Christine shook me away, looking frustrated.

"Well. That's... disappointing. After this show is over, though, I'm beating the information out of those dancers if I have to. We need Kline here. I mean, come on. Our plane will be going home in another month or so. We need her here," Christine repeated, her voice slipping into unintelligible murmurings. Holmes smiled at her, and then looked at me.

"Are you ready for opening night?" he asked me. I snorted, playing with my hair quietly.

"No. Claudia is, certainly, but I'm getting really nervous. I mean, we've only had about a month to get ready," I reminded him. Holmes shrugged.

"We'll do fine. It's the actors I would be more worried about. They have the tough part," he retorted. Christine shook herself out of her mumblings and nodded violently.

"Of course we do. I would kill to see either of you act... Jenny, I know you can't. Holmes- you'd better be able to act in your line of work," she snapped. Holmes raised an eyebrow mockingly.

"Does thine resident actress get snippy when preparing for opening night?" he asked. Christine chuckled, tapping Holmes on the temple.

"I think that with your brains you can figure that out."

Holmes took her hand away from his head and kissed it. Christine blushed and yanked her hand out of his, backing up.

"Now then, Sherlock, save the romantics for someone who would appreciate it. Like Jenny here. Can't let her know of our secret love affair," grinned Christine. I gasped.

"Holmes! Do you love this woman?" I asked. Holmes smiled enigmatically.

"If I do not, then you must throw stones at me. For such a lady is a divine rose, newly blooming, with the beauty of the moon rising above the mountains, and the elegance of the most perfect of swans. I cannot deny my love for such a woman!" he cried theatrically. I began to sob, mockingly.

"Say it isn't so!" I pleaded. Christine stepped forward and put one of her thin hands on Holmes' lips.

"Speak no more, thine lover! For our love must forever be secret, especially to thine wife!" she cried out. Holmes looked at her, his eyes sparkling wildly.

"Say no more, my own! For I shall steal your breath with a single kiss!" he cried. Then, dipping Christine quite low, he kissed her.

I shrieked in horror, and saw Christine flailing in his arms, trying to hit him away. Holmes then released her and started laughing. I put my hands over my mouth in pure enjoyment as Christine snarled at Holmes, and then kicked him in the shin.

"Jerk!" she shouted. Holmes was practically roaring in laughter now. And then, Christine was up off the floor, bowing with Holmes. She tossed her brown hair triumphantly, looking at me.

"Was it believable?" she demanded, her blue eyes pleading with me. I blinked a few times.

"Wait- you mean he didn't kiss you?"

"Of course not. I would of killed him if he did."

"Oh."

"Looks like it worked, Sherlock."

"It would appear so."

"It is true then. You are a wonderful actor."

"Ah no, fair Christine. Twas your acting talent that brought the charade to life."

"You speak to kindly, valiant Sherlock. It was you who made it all the more real."

"Shall we agree, then, that it was both of us who made the play real?"

"Certainly, my friend."

Christine grinned at me, and then her smile disappeared as she looked at the empty spot to my right. Where Kline would have stood. Her face became pale, and then she forced a smile on her face.

"If you'll excuse me, I have... work... to do. I shall see you both when the curtain rises."

Christine waved at us as she exited, practically slamming the door behind her. I watched her go, with a bit of sadness, and then looked at Holmes.

"Nothing, then?" I asked, practically pleading for results. Holmes sighed and shook his head.

"Nothing. You would think the killer would let something slip. Mention something that only the killer would know, or wear a sign that says "I'm a bloody maniac, slap the handcuffs on me and take me away". But no! Nothing, nothing!" he snarled, starting to pace. I put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, ready to cry. Kline's life depended on us finding the killer. If the killer didn't give us any clues to work with, then what could we do?

Holmes noticed my distressed look and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my forehead. I held back a few tears that threatened to slip out.

"Holmes... what if we don't find her in time?" I asked. He knew who I was talking about.

"She can take care of herself. Knowing Kline, she's probably killed the killer for putting her in a room that didn't have a view," he whispered gently. I sniffed.

"You think? Honestly, now," I said. Holmes tensed underneath my arms, and I felt him sigh.

"No. No, I fully suspect that she's been hidden away. Far away. I don't think she's dead yet, though. Our killer likes to brag about her work. If she had killed Kline, we would have found her by now. I would suspect that she's saving Kline, somewhat like a final masterpiece," he replied. I felt my stomach lurch.

"I'm scared," I mumbled. Holmes kissed me again, rubbing small circles in my back.

"You should be."

******************************************************************************************

I looked spiffy. I looked very spiffy, if a bit daring.

It was a good seven hours before the play actually opened, but like all actors, they wanted to have a nice gala before hand. The press had been invited, along with a bunch of famous people I had never heard of. The joys of being a naive American.

My dress was a deep blue, almost black in color, but much nicer. It was low cut in the front, and had a nice high slit up one leg. It was had spaghetti straps. I looked very spiffy.

As for jewelry, I wasn't quite sure what to wear yet. I had various trinkets that Holmes had given me, but I really just wanted something simple. Finally, I chose his first necklace, the one that I figured had to have a curse on it. It was made of diamonds and sapphires, and had been his mothers. Of course, his mother had turned out to be a criminal overlord, but... that's a different story. But I had worn the necklace the first night I had ever been put in danger, and I felt a bit wary to wear it. But when I put it on, I relaxed. It was beautiful. 

"Very nice. Gift from Sherlock, I presume?" commented Christine's voice from my doorway. I heard the mocking tone in her voice and turned to face her, so I could write her off. But I couldn't. My voice just disappeared, as though it had been sucked out of my throat.

For someone who didn't care about appearances, Christine looked absolutely fabulous. Her brown hair had been piled up on top of her head in a messy yet elegant bun, with several curled tendrils hanging down in a neat pattern. She wore perfect makeup, darker red for her lips and lovely mascara. Her dress was certainly gorgeous. It was a long black gown that reached the ground. The only sleeves were spaghetti strap, like mine, except she had two extra. It had a turtleneck, but that didn't deplete from the sheer beauty of the dress. Christine wore black gloves that reached the middle of her upper arm, and a gorgeous emerald necklace dangled from a chain around her neck. Her dark blue eyes glowed as she saw my reaction, and she clapped her gloved hands together.

"You like, then?" she questioned eagerly. I nodded dumbly, stunned. Christine smiled triumphantly, twirling around to show me the full extent of her dress. To my absolute incredulity, I saw that there was practically no back, and that the fabric only met again a few inches above her butt. Christine giggled like a schoolgirl at my reaction.

"A lovely gown you are wearing, Christine. Does Todd like it?" Holmes' sardonic voice asked from the doorway. Christine spun around and grinned at Holmes, kissing him on the cheek.

"I don't know. Thank you for picking it out for me," she replied. I snapped out of my surprise and glared at Holmes.

"You picked that dress out? What, do you want all the cast to end up being killed?" I snapped, not really angry. Holmes looked at me in confusion, as did Christine.

"What do you mean?" he asked me. I felt a smile creep over my face as I began laughing.

"You know if any guy flirts with Christine she'll snap his neck."

Christine reached over and slapped me hard over the head. I swatted her away from me, glaring.

"Watch the hair!" I shrieked. Christine smirked and made a move to mess up my hair. I jumped back and raised my hands.

"If you don't watch it, I'll attack your hair."

"Ok! Jeez, truce. You fight dirty, Jenny. I admire that."

"You are so weird."

"Thank you."

"Ladies," Holmes said, clearing this throat. Christine and I looked up, grinning at him. He looked very dashing in his tux, which I'm sure Christine made him wear. Certainly, I had begged, but Holmes had always been able to resist me. Two begging women, though, I didn't think he could fully resist. I winked at Holmes and took his arm, leaning on it gently. Holmes kissed my head, and I promptly hit him.

"What?" he demanded. Raising an eyebrow, I gestured to the very intricate bundle of braids that I had managed to weave into a gorgeous bun, that vaguely resembled Princess Leia's, except one, and on the top of my head.

"Watch the hair."

************************************************************************************************* 

"Holmes... this is so boring," I groaned, trying not to sound conceited as I sipped my sparkling grape juice. Holmes smiled at me, putting an arm around my waist.

"You need not tell me, Watson. This gala is mainly for the actors, anyway," he reminded me. I sighed darkly and began playing with a few strands of hair that had enough guts to work their way out of the entire bottle of hairspray I had used. They felt crunchy in my fingers, much to my disgust.

"Well, Christine doesn't seem to be having fun," I retaliated, pointing out our friend. She was glaring sullenly at anybody who approached her, and though she had accepted a dance with Todd, she had then asked him to leave her alone. I took it as a sign of true love. She hit me for it.

Holmes smirked at me, tugging on my hair gently.

"Now then, Christine isn't a normal actress, is she?"

I shrugged and crossed my legs, careful to not let anything inappropriate show. I glanced around the large ballroom, hoping for something to do. Unfortunately, everyone and everything seemed preoccupied. I sighed again, and heard Holmes laugh.

"Come now, Watson, it can't be that boring," he said. I rolled my eyes and stood up, offering him a hand.

"Fine, let's dance then."

Holmes accepted my hand gallantly, even though I knew that he really hated dancing. He led me in a very pleasant, relaxing waltz, humming the melody in my ear. I joined him halfway through the song, adding a harmony. Holmes smiled at me, winking. Then, with the elegance of a gentleman, he dipped me down near the floor. I let out a very un-ladylike shriek, and he started laughing immediately.

"Holmes! That wasn't funny! You should have warned me," I sulked. He smiled and patted me on the cheek playfully.

"It wouldn't have been nearly as fun if you had a warning."

"Oh, shut up."

The dance ended in time, and I resumed my bored state, glaring at my grape juice. I heard a few soft footsteps, and looked up to see a few of the dancers standing in front of me. Specifically, Melanie, Anastasia, Emily, and Judith.

"Hello, Jennifer. Enjoying yourself?" asked Judith kindly enough. I shrugged, guarding my reactions. One of them might be the murder.

"Not really. This is kind of boring," I pointed out. Melanie smiled, her bleached white teeth catching the light and shining directly into my eyes. I winced.

"You must learn to make the best you can of everything," she shot back, her tone not all together friendly. I plastered a smile on, and then started.

"Oh, none of you have met my boyfriend. Melanie, Emily, Anastasia, Judith, this is Sherlock Holmes. Holmes, this is... the dancers," I finished lamely, not feeling like saying their names all over again. He held out a hand, which Emily (to my shock) immediately took.

"A pleasure, Mr. Holmes. We have heard much about you," she said solemnly. She then released his hand, and it was immediately taken by Anastasia. Her dark brown eyes met his, and she seemed to be holding him in a silent showdown. She looked away first.

"Yes... you and your little friends are spoken of often among the dancers," she hissed, her Russian accent particularly strong for some reason. Holmes nodded at her, smiling a bit. Judith took his hand next, her own small one engulfed by his.

"I have heard so much about you! It is an honor to meet the man who solved the Moonscape Club Murders," she cooed. I stared at her in disbelief, and even Holmes gave her a second glance. Our involvement hadn't been announced in the papers, and Judith didn't seem the type involved with the club.

"My grandfather's daughter was the founder of the club. She was one of those killed," she told us, her voice echoing faint sadness and anger. Holmes's hand tightened around hers.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," he said softly. Judith looked at him quietly, and then let go of his hand, fading into the background. Melanie didn't accept his hand, merely bobbed her head instead.

"So, are you enjoying this?" I asked, gesturing to the room filled with people. Judith and Emily shook their heads glumly, while Melanie and Anastasia nodded quickly.

"Oh, yes, it is great fun to see all the actors and instrumentalists before the show begins. There are so many things to talk about," Melanie said excitedly, her cruel demeanor slipping for an instant. Holmes, every intelligent, quickly shifted the conversation.

"I would imagine that the murders are spoken of the most," he said. Judith sighed dramatically.

"Yes, such a pity. Those poor girls... and Jackie. I heard about what happened to Jackie... that Kline girl must have been stunned to open her door and find the... body parts... around her room," cried Judith, playing with her blond hair. I nodded.

"Oh yes. She was crying. It was very bloody."

"You saw it?" Emily asked, surprised. I looked at her, and she blushed. "I mean, I was told that only Amanda saw it."

Holmes shook his head soberly, obviously a bit hesitant to speak of Kline when he knew I wasn't doing to well with her disappearance. "Christine and I saw it as well. Horrible thing. I am glad that you girls were spared of the tragedy."

Melanie sniffed. "I wish I hadn't been. I would have loved to see what went on in their. I would most likely have solved this mystery before Scotland Yard. I mean, they're barely working on this case! Three girls get ripped apart in the city, and that's more important than musicians and dancers being murdered in one area. They probably don't even have a chance of solving that mystery. How hard can it be to solve a murder that is in a contained area? The killer had to of slipped up somewhere... even the smallest of clues can point quite obviously to one person. Like that American case, a while ago. Two collage kids were trying to pull off the perfect murder, and the only thing that screwed them up was a pair of glasses! Can you imagine? Getting caught because your glasses fell off?" Melanie prattled. I blanched, remembering when I had studied that case in history. Gruesome case.

"Ah yes. I remember that case. I don't think that our killer could have messed up their crimes that badly, though, or the Yard would have caught them by now," Holmes reminded her. Melanie shrugged.

"It's impossible to pull of the perfect crime. The killer left something behind. It just takes someone really intelligent to figure out the connection between whatever was left behind and a person. Obviously, the Yard isn't intelligent enough for that," she scowled. Holmes chuckled.

"Well, we knew that."

Melanie laughed, tossing her dark brown curls over her shoulder. Her hazel eyes glittered excitedly.

"So, you know a lot about crime, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, enchanted. Holmes shrugged, putting a hand on my shoulder. I could practically feel the smirk radiating off of him.

"A little," he stated, apparently in the mood for being modest. I snorted, and Melanie glanced at me in confusion.

"A little. Melanie, Holmes is quite the master of crime. He makes the Yard look like idiots," I claimed, grinning. Melanie looked at me, her eyebrows raised.

"That doesn't take much."

Anastasia cleared her throat, looking meaningfully at Melanie. Melanie's eyes sharpened for a moment, and then she smiled apologetically at Holmes.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, Jennifer, but we really must be going. We have many other people to speak to tonight," she sighed. Her eyes perked for a moment, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Another time, perhaps? We shall compare wits, Mr. Holmes. I am sure you will not be disappointed."

In an instant, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd, the other dancers following her. Holmes looked after her as she went, a curious smile on his mouth. I tapped him gently, the familiar feeling of jealousy creeping over me.

"Holmes?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you goggling at another girl?" I asked. Holmes looked at me, the curious smile remaining.

"Of course, Watson, but not in the way you think. She's a remarkable girl, but I am far more interested in you."

************************************************************************************************* 

"Christine, have you seen my shoe?" I yelled, desperately throwing my dirty laundry in the air in the hopes of unearthing my black sneaker. Christine caught one of my sweaters in her hand and tossed it onto the bed.

"Try the space between the toilet and the shower," she responded, running a comb through her hair. She was already in costume and makeup, so she wasn't in a rush. I dashed into the bathroom, looking for my single Nike shoe, and to my relief, it was there.

"Thanks, Christine," I called. 

"Any time," she called back.

I laced up my shoe quickly and glanced at the clock, feeling my stomach rise into my stomach as I anticipated how much time I had left until call. I nearly choked when I saw we only had ten minutes.

"Christine, are you ready?" I asked, coming out of the bathroom. She nodded, yawning tiredly and tossing the brush onto the floor.

"Yeah. Are you driving?"

"Of course."

"We'll never arrive safely," she grumbled.

We met Holmes in the lobby, who was busy combing his hair down. I giggled a bit, which earned me a glare.

"I fell asleep while waiting. In case you haven't noticed, my dearest Watson, but we haven't been getting the best of sleep as of late," he snapped at me. I raised my palms to him, smiling a bit.

"I meant nothing by it. Come on, I'm driving," I told him. Holmes groaned as we began to walk out to the car. "We're all going to die," he moaned. 

It was a dismal night, rain coming down in sheets, melting the little bit of snow we had gotten. The sludge coated our nice black shoes, and even started a thin layer upon our trouser legs. Christine didn't seem to mind it- it would probably just add to her costume- but Holmes and I were less than pleased. We walked out to the car in silence.

It was only a five minute drive to the theatre, but we were all grateful for the moments of dryness we received. The rain was absolutely torrential, and we noticed a few people coming in, completely soaked. Todd was, unfortunately, one of them. He shook out his ruined umbrella and then strode over to us.

"Hello, all," he said pleasantly. I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"How can you act so cheerful in this weather?" I complained. Todd shrugged, tugging at Christine's hair in greeting. She slapped him away, but I saw a playful smile slip across her face.

"I don't think it's that bad, actually. I like it. Quite pleasant, really clears the sinus's," he chirped. Christine slapped him gently on the cheek, smiling.

"Clears the sinus's? How can you say that? Mine are absolutely filled to the brim," she reported. Holmes wrinkled his nose, as did Todd.

"Thank you for the information, my lovely Christine. I think we could have lived without it, however," Holmes informed her. Christine smiled, winking at Holmes.

"Hey, anything I can do to help a friend, Sherlock," she bubbled. I rolled my eyes at her. She was in far too good a mood. Especially for one who had recently suffered a tragedy. I felt rather guilty for having a good time when Kline was probably in mortal peril.

Christine stopped in front of the doors that led to the official auditorium, staring at them quietly. Holmes and I stopped also, studying her as her thoughtful features peered at the door. I waved a hand in front of her face.

"What?" I questioned. Christine glanced at me, and then looked back at the doors.

"Those doors are going to open in one hour, and the people are going to flow into the theatre, and they're going to watch a play that we poured our blood into. But they'll never know how much blood was poured into it. I mean, think about it. How many people have died because of this play? Five, I think it was? Possibly six, if Kline... the point is that we are such an ignorant species. We think nothing of what goes on behind the scenes," she observed quietly. I gawked at her in astonishment. But Holmes merely patted her on the arm, smiling gently.

"Good luck tonight, Christine," he murmured. Christine's head shot up, the blue eyes suddenly full of rage.

"You never say good luck on opening night!" she shrieked, her voice resonating. Holmes blinked, and then a grin passed over his face.

"You're right. Break a leg," he corrected himself. Christine nodded in satisfaction.

"Break a leg, both of you. I just know you'll do great. And remember, Jenny- don't piss off Sallay tonight. It would be really annoying to have her glaring at you the entire time," teased Christine. Then, with the briefest of winks and waves, Christine headed off for the backstage area, Todd joining her before she could reach the door.

I gazed at the doors Christine had talked about, wondering what it would be like to not know anything of what went on backstage. But my thoughts ended rather abruptly. I couldn't imagine it- it just wasn't possible. The murders lay heavily on my mind, as I am sure it did for Holmes.

Holmes took my hand, opened the door, and led me inside the theatre. It was almost time to begin.

*************************************************************************************************

_"If it takes my last breath I must- The death of just- one man will set me free!"_ sang Sherlock Holmes and Professor Moriarty at the end of "One Man". The song ended with a tremendous crescendo and beautiful chord, and then I dropped my clarinet into my lap out of utter exhaustion. There were only four more songs left, and only two of them were sung. The next one would be Christine's solo, called "Crickets Prayer".

Claudia smiled at me, patting me on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, you're doing fine," she whispered. I grinned at her, and nodded thankfully. Glancing over at Holmes, I saw him bouncing his violin on his knee, his head in his hand. I squinted in the darkness to see what he was doing, not entirely sure. He appeared to be talking to himself. His lips were moving rapidly, and it was nearly impossible to make out his words. 

"Strand... pink... dancer..." I managed to interpret. Otherwise, it was a complete mystery to me. Glancing up at the stage, I saw the man who played Moriarty snatch the locket out of Christine's hands, the one she was supposed to give the actor who played Holmes. It was almost time.

I licked my lips nervously, and then licked my reed to make sure it was still wet. I tasted the disgusting taste of mold, and realized tiredly that I hadn't changed my reed in over a month. Sighing, I raised my clarinet to my lips.

_"Dear God... Above... I hope that you're there..."_ Christine sang, her voice perfectly in pitch with the orchestra. Her voice soared as she sang her prayer, praying to God that her friend would be all right. I smiled at the irony of it all. The song ended with Christine's voice dying off in a touching piano solo. I gave her a thumbs up as the play continued, and she spared me the briefest of smiles.

Sitting back in my chair, I waited patiently for the instrumental piece, "London in Flames". It was a particularly hard song, though it shouldn't be. I buzzed my lips impatiently, bobbing my foot up in down. It would be another five minutes at least before I had to get ready.

The five minutes passed smoothly, everything going well on stage. I glanced at Holmes as I raised my clarinet to my lips and prepared to play the first note. To my shock, his violin was next to his feet, and he seemed to be panicking. On closer inspection, he seemed to have thoughts racing through his head. Shrugging, I looked at Sallay, waiting for her cue.

The music began slowly, the music beginning low, with a tuba solo. Then the violin's joined in- except Holmes. His hands were rubbing his temples. By measure five, he was severely agitated. At measure ten, the greatest shock of all came. He shot to his feet, nearly knocking over his stand. His eyes moved to look at me, and I sensed the urgency in them. I leapt to my feet, setting my clarinet on my chair, and then ran over to him, careful not to knock over anything.

"It's Vouche!" he practically yelled in my ear. I blinked a few times, surprised.

"Ok, so sit back down. We get her after the play," I hissed at him. Sallay was glaring at us, and I could see her swearing under her breath. Holmes grabbed my wrist, and I was stunned at how very upset he seemed.

"You don't understand! She's going to kill Christine next. It would be her grand finale, to kill one of the lead actresses as she sang the saddest song of the entire play. Don't you remember the words to the final song?" he muttered. I nodded. Of course I did, they were heartbreaking... and then it hit me.

They were sung by Cricket, who was angry because it would appear that she had prayed for her friend for no reason, because her friend ended up dying. It fit. It fit with what had happened in our own little group. I grabbed Holmes's hand, terrified. He nodded, and we went bolting down the stairs that led to backstage.

As we raced to get backstage, I could hear Christine beginning her song.

"_Dear God... Above... I hope that you're there..."_

"What do you think you're doing?" Sallay asked, stepping in front of the door we needed to get through. Holmes grabbed her shoulders and shoved her aside.

"_Please take care of my friend while she's gone."_

Holmes threw open the door, and we went tumbling down the three steps that led to underneath the stage. We ran as fast as we could to the second staircase that would take us up onto the stage.

_"It's so unfair! What's the point of a prayer?"_

We hurtled up the stairs, and I could hear with dread that Christine's solo was ending. Only one more line, and Emily Vouche was sure to shoot. I grabbed the doorknob to the backstage door and twisted...

_"When you knew what he'd do all along."_

It was the end of her solo, and we were behind the curtains. Christine stood on stage left, tears streaming down her face. The characters that played Elizabeth and Holmes stood center stage, ready to begin their own solos. Christine was in a great deal of danger. 

And then I saw her.

Emily Vouche stood off on stage right, a malicious grin on her face. I saw her raise a very shiny gun in her hands, and aim right for Christine. I gasped in horror, but didn't move from my spot. I saw her undo the safety, and her finger tightened on the trigger...

"Christine!" someone screamed. A blur of tan dashed out onto the stage, knocking Christine to the ground at the same time as the gun went off. There was a terrible scream, and all chaos erupted.

Holmes and I shoved our way onto the stage as people in the audience howled and pushed each other to get away. Christine still sat on the ground, looking at a bloody Todd. She was very white, and looked quite ill. I helped her to her feet as Holmes looked at Todd.

"Are you all right, Todd?" he asked urgently. Todd released his grip that he had on his arm, revealing a hole. The bullet, instead of entering Christine's head as intended, had instead lodged itself in his arm. I looked at it briefly, and saw that it was serious, but he would live. Christine looked murderous.

"Who is it?" she snarled, the blood slowly entering her face again.

"Emily Vouche," I told her. Her eyes looked absolutely livid as she set off, running faster than I had ever seen her run before. Holmes and I were after her in a second.

"You can't hurt her, Christine!" Holmes shouted after her. I heard Christine laugh, but I couldn't see her. It was far too dark backstage.

"Oh, I won't hurt her. I will kill her!" came the enraged shout. Holmes and I increased our pace.

The backstage area was an absolute labyrinth. The curtains alone were enough to confuse anyone, but there were various rooms and hidey-holes than only added to the maze. Holmes grabbed my hand and led me through the network of curtains, chasing after a seething Christine.

"Where is she?" came a very animalistic snarl from my right. I stopped Holmes and turned into a tiny room. Inside was Christine, standing over a rather timid Emily Vouche. But then Emily's fearful look disappeared, and she rose to her full height. It wasn't much- only 5'5 or so- but the maniacal smile that filled her face terrified me.

"Your little friend? Quite, quite dead," Emily declared. Christine screamed and lunged at her. I grabbed her arm, struggling to hold her back. Holmes grabbed the other arm, and together we managed to stop her from hurting the murderous dancer.

"She's toying with you, Christine. Kline isn't dead, don't you see?" Holmes insisted, trying to get her attention. Christine glared at him, and made another attempt to attack Emily. The dancer merely laughed.

"Listen to your friend, Christine. It might do you some good," she giggled. Christine slowed her fighting a bit, but she certainly didn't stop.

"Where is she!?" yelled Christine, startling me. Emily smiled teasingly, her eyes glittering.

"I'll never tell."

As many parts of the case were, this next moment was an utter blur to me. I remember someone shoving me to the ground, and a voice crying out "She has her gun!", and then a very loud noise next to me, but other than that, I recall nothing. The next thing I remember after that was a very thick, red substance pouring onto my hands. I cried out, scared that it was Holmes or Christine- but it wasn't.

Emily's pitiful body had crumbled to the ground, the smoking gun still clutched in her pale, small hands. Her throat seemed to be missing, for some odd reason. There was a large hole where the vocal cords should have been. A dark smile still remained on her face, and I felt my stomach lurch as I looked at her broken body.

Holmes closed his eyes, trying to remove himself from the scene mentally. Even Christine seemed sadly diminished, her anger and rage slipping away to confusion, pain, and sadness. I felt the tears well up in my eyes, and then I started crying, near hysterics. Christine crawled over to me, taking my hand, a few of her own tears falling onto my hand. She hugged me, but soon the stench of blood became to overwhelming. 

"Come along, ladies. We must get Scotland Yard," Holmes croaked, his voice hoarse and quiet. Christine helped me to my feet, and together we left Emily Vouche's final resting place.

AN: Kenta Divina- for your absolutely correct guess (how I hate that word...), you receive a party favor!

@--%--- @--%---

Two Moonroses should tide you over for a while, right? Now, next assignment for you (and anyone else)- how did Holmes figure out that it was Emily? The clues are blatantly obvious, unfortunately, so you should have no problems. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, I really appreciated it. My next chapter will be out fairly soon.

Word of warning: the next chapter will be the last chapter of the entire story. After that chapter, there will be a small epilogue. And that's it. The story will be done. I'm not going back on my word. HOWEVER! There will be a very definite sequel to this story, which I'm already plotting out. Please review this chapter... it will bring the next ones up quicker.


	10. It Just Cannot be Adieu

Hmm, to continue, or to not continue, that is the question. Imagine me looking at a skull, please. Or maybe I should be saying Alas, poor Yorick. Wait, that doesn't make sense... here. Alas, poor Kline. That's better. Yes, it is late, so I am a bit delusional. To be exact, it's 2:32 in the morning. And I have to perform today (waaaaah!). I figured, however, that while ff.net instant messenger downloads, I might as well type out the next chapter.

****

Nellanna23_- I don't MEAN to be forceful... but I'm tired of only getting one or two reviews each chapter, you know? I'm glad you've enjoyed everyone of my stories- I certainly haven't *glares at To Watery Depths*, but it's nice to know someone out there likes them._

****

Kenta Divina_- Pity, you didn't give me the clues that led to it. And I meant it as a compliment... glad you didn't die on the way to orchestra. I'm in a play, also. Opening night was on Friday- I was shaking before I went on stage, whether from nerves or the fact that there might be a psycho killer in the audience you tell me..._

****

Pinkpanther- _If you thought the last chapter was sad, wait until you read this one. And my next story... you're in for the ride of your lifetime._

Yes, yes, worship me all. I only have one thing to say to everyone- you assume I'm going to save Kline... you shouldn't make presumptions, my pretties!

*Runs off cackling*

Chapter Istoppedcounting: It Just CANNOT Be Adieu

The clock was ticking far too slowly. The second hand seemed to be going in reverse. The minute hand was mocking me, and the hour hand just was laughing. Forever laughing. Cackling evilly as it turned backwards. I felt like crying.

We had been at Scotland Yard for hours. At least five. And during that time we had been questioned, prodded, placed in several different rooms, and had even been blamed for the suicide of Emily Vouche. Those policemen had no sympathy for us. They even laughed when Christine and I had started to cry. They were cold, callous, and unforgiving. It wasn't our fault she had put that gun to her throat. It wasn't our fault she had pulled the trigger. It wasn't our fault that Kline was likely dead...

I felt my throat seize as I thought about Kline. Emily had said our friend was dead. Holmes said she was not. I didn't know who to believe- the lines between good and evil were so skewed... I hiccupped nervously, and then sniffed. I seemed to be coming down with a cold.

Christine muttered something in her sleep, her long fingers clutching my knee compulsively. She had fallen asleep over an hour ago, right in my lap. Since then, she had been whispering things in her sleep, and grabbing my knees over and over again. It was very annoying, but I was so numb with disbelief and exhaustion that I didn't much care.

I glanced at the clock again. Holmes had been in with the Scotland Yard official for at least an hour. I wished I knew what they were talking about- I wished I knew what was happening. My brain seemed frozen solid, dripping with icicles. Or, as Christine had put it hours earlier, "Utterly dumbfounded and numb with grief and God knows what else,". Very well spoken, I thought.

Christine said something again, and her hand gripped my knee. I winced and shook her shoulder. It was time for her to get up. My knee couldn't take anymore. I felt her stir beneath my hand, and then she slowly sat up, her hair in tangles and her eyes red. She yawned tiredly, and glanced at me.

"How long?" she asked softly. I dreaded glancing at the evil clock again, but I did.

"Five hours since we got here. An hour and fifteen minutes since you fell asleep. One hour since Holmes was led into that room by the police officer. Six hours since Emily Vouche killed herself. Three hours since the show was cancelled all together. Twenty minutes since Holmes's father and stepmother called, sounding furious. Two hours and forty minutes since my mom called, sounding concerned. Three hours and four minutes since your mom called, sounding tired and confused. Three days since Mrs. Kline called, sounding heartbroken. Do you want me to continue?" I asked blandly, my voice in a steady monotone. Christine waved her hand impatiently at me, shaking her head.

"That was quite enough, thank you Jenny. Any idea why they're keeping us here?" she questioned me, her blue eyes slowly becoming clearer as sleep fell away. I shook my head.

"No clue. I have a feeling that they're trying to pin everything on us," I sighed. Christine frowned, her mouth pinching into a thin little line.

"From what you've told me of Lestrade, he won't allow that to happen. Despite his obvious distaste for Sherlock, he respects him. He won't allow the top-notch detective to be thrown in the slammer," she reminded me. I glanced at her, playing with my hair.

"Do they even have a slammer here?"

"God knows. I don't even live here."

A silence passed between us, the only sound being that annoying clock. I sighed and leaned back on the hard bench, trying to get comfortable and not succeeding in the least. Christine stretched her legs out, yawning loudly in the dead air, and then sniffing.

"I'm going over there and demanding that they let us go. It's what, midnight? They have to let us go, this just isn't humane. And if that filthy clock doesn't shut up, I'm going to break it!" snarled Christine, standing up quickly. She walked over beneath the clock, and then dragged a chair over. Standing on the chair, she yanked the clock off the wall, ripping the cords from the fixture all together. Smiling in satisfaction, she tossed it onto the bench, and then walked over to the only door that led in or out of the room. Christine raised her hand and pounded on the door sharply. The sound echoed in the room for a minute, and then the door opened, much to my surprise.

"Yes?" barked an older man, his gray hair thinning, and his moustache completely white. Christine stuck a finger in his face, her eyes shining oddly.

"Listen here, sir. We've been good little girls, waiting in this d***** room for five hours. I think it is high time you let her, Sherlock Holmes, and I go. Right now. We're tired, we're frustrated, we're upset... and if you don't let me go, I will report you to your senior officer for misconduct to the witnesses. And you wouldn't want your star witnesses not allowed in court, would you?" Christine oozed, her voice dripping with contempt. The man wrinkled his nose at her, and shook his head.

"Miss, we can't let you go yet."

"And why the heck not?"

"We have some more questions to ask you all."

Christine looked ready to attack the man, and I feared she would for a moment. She was practically shaking with rage. Her eyes, normally very dark blue, had turned a fascinating shade of black, and it was beginning to look like a homicide would happen right inside of Scotland Yard. However, she contained herself, and let out a shuddery breath.

"Mister...?"

"Ogilby."

"Ogilby. We have answered your questions quite kindly for the last five hours. We have cooperated, despite the fact that it brought us considerable pain to do so. We have been nothing but patient and polite. And considering how very emotionally trying this case was, I do think you had bloody well let us go to our own homes to have a good cry!" she shouted, her anger getting the best of her. Before Ogilby could say anything, however, I found myself on my feet and storming over to him.

"Mister Ogilby, I am happy to tell you that we didn't do anything in this case other than watch people close to us get killed. One of our friends we cannot even find at present! All we want to do is go home. Come on, Christine isn't even from this country! And why would Holmes commit these murders, if that is what you're thinking? And me? You think I wanted to hurt those girls, or get involved with this case? Please. I have been in enough investigations to last me a life time, most of them landing me in the hospital. I am in no mood to deal with arrogant, pain-in-the-ass police officers at this time! I want to go home!" I shrieked. Christine smirked at me, looking impressed. Even Ogilby looked stunned.

"The fact of the matter is, miss, that we would like to let you go home. But even we don't understand the full implications of this case, and your friend Holmes does. We need to get the facts straight. You children had the jump on us, I'm afraid. We were investigating the murders in town. If you will please sit down, I will have an assistant bring you something to drink. What would you like?" Ogilby asked, suddenly looking sympathetic. Christine scowled, but relented.

"Tea. Two lumps of sugar, and cream," she ordered. Ogilby looked at me, and I had to think.

"Do you have cappuccinos?" I asked hopefully. Ogilby nodded, smiling a bit.

"A large French Vanilla cappuccino. Make it four. I want four. Four sounds good."

Ogilby nodded at both of us and disappeared into the room again, shutting the door. Christine sighed and dragged herself back to the seat which she had vacated. I followed, rubbing my eyes ruefully. I was exhausted... I just wanted to go back home and sleep for forty-eight hours. Or maybe seventy-two. Yes, three days sounded good. I also wanted toast. I didn't know why, but toast sounded good.

"I want toast," I announced to the silent room. Christine glanced at me, a dark chuckle escaping her throat.

"Ah, yes, comfort food. I want... I want ice cream, actually. A pint. Maybe two. Vanilla, with a bottle of chocolate syrup. And whip cream. Oh, and caramel... and maybe some sprinkles. Not the colorful kind, those make me sick. The other kind- the good kind. Ooo, and cookies! I'll add chocolate chip cookies into it. And maybe some other crap as well. Fudge. My kingdom for fudge," declared Christine. I snorted, the hilarity of it all hitting me.

"Chocolate stimulates endorphins. You want sex, don't you, Christine," I teased. Her eyes met mine, a carefully raised eyebrow mocking me.

"If sex would comfort me, yes. But as I don't approve of premarital sex, no."

"Ah, well, Todd will make you change your mind."

"Shut up."

"Oh, come on, you saw that heroic save."

"Idiotic save if you ask me."

I rolled my eyes at her, tossing my hair over my shoulder. "Denying it isn't going to help," I pointed out. Christine pursed her lips, making a fist as her fingers crackled when the bones cracked.

"Fine then, I won't deny it. I have a crush on Todd. A very large one, point of fact," she admitted. I have to admit, I fairly gaped at her. My jaw actually fell open, much to my shock.

Christine admitting she had a crush? Christine Penninger admitting that she liked a guy? _Christine?_ I jumped out of my seat and studied her carefully.

"Ok, what did you do with the real Christine?" I demanded. Christine looked at me, momentarily amused. Then her smile fell away as she leaned back in her chair.

"Killed her off. Hours ago. Great bit of fun it was, too," she sighed. Then, arching her back, she yawned and lay back down on the bench.

"Wake me up when Holmes comes back. You should go to sleep too, we might be here for a while."

Her eyes slipped shut, and her breaths became slow and even. I watched her for a minute, yawned, and then lay down on the floor, folding my arms beneath my head. Black spots filled my vision as I slowly drifted off to sleep.

******************************************************************************************

"Watson? Come now, Watson, time to wake up," a voice whispered softly in my ear. I groaned and buried my head into my arms, trying to ignore it. A hand reached down and shook me on the shoulder.

"Watson?"

"Goway," I mumbled incoherently. There was a soft chuckle, and the hand returned, shaking me. I groaned again and swatted at the hand.

"Listen, I'm tired and I'm hungry. Go bug someone else, you arse," I swore, using British swear words for once in my life. There was a moment of silence, and then someone lifted me to my feet. I moaned and opened my eyes, to see a smiling Holmes looking at me. I sighed and stood up, ignoring the dizzy feeling. Sniffling, I rubbed my eyes, and then my nose.

"What time is it?" I whimpered, desperately wanting some more sleep.

"Nearly noon. Scotland Yard said we could go about two hours ago," Holmes replied. My eyes snapped open instantly, stunned. I glanced around, looking for Christine, but couldn't find her. Holmes seemed to sense what I was thinking, and shook his head.

"She left immediately to go to the hospital, she said. To see Todd, if I understand correctly," he informed me. I wrinkled my nose and carefully smoothed out my outfit, dismayed at the wrinkles.

"Home, then?"

"To your house, I think."

Holmes took my hand and led me through Scotland Yard, pointedly ignoring any of the Inspectors who glanced his way. I joined him in snubbing them, tossing my hair as though I were a high school snob. I saw Lestrade glance our way, but when Holmes shot a glare at him, he looked away instantly.

The streets were noisy as we left the Yard, and I quickly stepped out to the curb, hailing a cab. A rather dirty cab stopped in front of us, but we didn't much care as we climbed in, ordering the cabbie to my house. He grunted at us, and the car quickly sped off into the crowded streets.

I leaned back in the seat, feeling the hard (was it leather, or plastic?) fabric beneath me. Holmes did the same, taking deep breathes every few minutes. After a moment of silence, I decided to break in.

"What did they ask you?" I whispered, hoping the cab driver wouldn't hear. Holmes pushed back some of his hair, which had fallen in his face before he answered.

"How I knew. Why I didn't stop her. The details, the inconsistencies, the murders themselves... Scotland Yard was lazy on this case, Watson. They really weren't involved at all. I was their eyes and ears, unfortunately. It's going down in their files," replied Holmes wearily. I put my head on his shoulder.

"Bums. Couldn't even get off of their butts long enough to investigate this stuff. Why'd the need to talk to you for eight hours or something like that, though?" I questioned. Holmes laughed bitterly, causing the cabbie to glance at us. He lowered his voice when he next answered.

"Most of that time I sat in a room alone. I was only spoken to for three hours, maybe. And they were trying to verify if I had killed Vouche. Or, rather, if Christine or you had killed Vouche. Fools," he spat. I felt my blood rise slightly as I recalled the horrific scene of Emily's death.

"They really think we killed Vouche? Did they see us when we came in? Hellloooo! You would think they were Ashling police, darn them," I snarled. Holmes put a comforting hand on my knee, his breath growing calmer.

"They don't think we did it anymore. Just relax, Watson, it's over."

I snorted even as I began to fall asleep again.

"It's not over yet."

******************************************************************************************

My eyes fluttered open, only to have bright red numbers glaring back at me. I closed my eyes again and pulled the covers over my head, only to hear a tsk sound explode in my ears.

"Now, now, Jenny. You've slept long enough. It's seven at night. You cannot be that tired," a scornful voice said. I breathed out heavily, allowing my eyes to snap open again.

"You have got to be kidding me. Seven? Are you sure?" I asked the voice, knowing it to be Christine in all of her sarcastic glory. A snort quickly filled the room, and the rustling over clothing hit my ears.

"Am I sure... of course I'm sure! Get your butt out of bed, I'm sure Sherlock would like to talk to us. He's downstairs on the couch right now, if you care to know," she informed me, her voice laden with disdain and exhaustion. I rolled over in bed and propped myself up on my elbows so I could look at her.

Her hair was oddly wispy, and her eyes had dark blue bruises beneath them. I did a double take, thinking them to be black eyes, but then I saw that it was only shadows. She was overly pale, and she still hadn't changed out of her blood splattered clothes. Glancing down at myself, I saw that I hadn't either. I touched my hair and grimaced as I felt the dried blood.

"Am I allowed to take a shower first?" I questioned, allowing a bit of anger to slip into my voice. Christine, who had been perched upon my chair, jumped off of it, barely looking at me. I did see, however, a dark scowl cross her face.

"Of course, princess," she snapped. Then, twisting her back to me, she left my room, fairly slamming the door behind her. I glared at her fading image, and then crawled out of bed, getting tangled in the sheets.

Walking out of my bedroom and down the hall, I pushed open the bathroom door and then stepped inside. Within minutes the water was warm enough, and I stepped inside the shower, breathing in the steam. I pulled my lilac smelling shampoo from the tub's side, and proceeded to wash my hair as many times as possible.

Fifteen minutes later I emerged from the bathroom, fully cleaned and dressed in my pajamas. I ran a brush through my hair as I padded downstairs to the living room. Holmes and Christine both sat on the couch, Christine on the back of it, and Holmes sprawled across the cushions. I smiled at the site and cleared my throat gently. Christine looked at me instantly, her dark eyes much darker. She jerked her head at me, gesturing for me to sit down.

Holmes, I was glad to see, seemed a little more enthused with my arrival. His smile indicated genuine warmth, and he patted the space next to him. I walked over and sat down, leaning against his shoulder. I saw Christine's lips purse, even in the poor lighting.

"Well?" Christine snapped, the first to speak. Holmes sat up, looking at Christine.

"Well what?"

"Well, what are we here for? You asked us to come downstairs to meet you, and I would like to know why," Christine said. Holmes frowned at her.

"Christine, what is your problem?" he asked her, his eyes piercing into her. I saw her tense as she regarded Holmes with contempt I had never seen in her before. Her thin hands danced in her lap, and I saw her raise her chin, as though angry.

"My problem? My problem is that we're sitting here, nice and cozy. My problem is that we don't seem to be concerned with the splendid turn of events at all. My problem is that we still don't know where Kline is, or if she is even alive!" hissed Christine. Holmes considered her for a moment, and then yanked one of her constantly moving hands into his own. She nearly toppled from the back of the couch onto him, but managed to catch her balance in time.

"We'll find her Christine, I promise. But you needn't get so snippy with us. We're all a bit stressed, you need to understand that," he murmured soothingly. Christine regarded him in silence, and I feared that she might grow angry- but she just nodded, and curled her legs up underneath her, reclaiming her hand.

"Holmes, how did you know it was Emily Vouche?" I asked, putting my question into a voice. Holmes frowned at me.

"I was slow, Watson, very slow in deducing it. The clue was so very obvious, but I wasn't aware of it until the reception. You told me about the interviewers with the dancers then. And you told me that when you met Emily, she was fixing her laces, which were unraveling. Now, if you will remember, at one of the crime scenes, we found a bit of pink thread. I believe that if we had examined it under a microscope, we would have discovered it to be that from a dancers ballet slipper.

"Also, three of the five dancers that had stayed were in the audience at the time. Only Judith and Emily Vouche were missing. I had spoken to Judith earlier... she was going home directly after the reception. Indeed, I saw her mother lead her away.

"But how was I to know that the killer would strike that night? I remembered what we had decided about our killer- very bold with her murders. After all, Jackie's murder was bold. The two trumpet players were killed right in front of us. The violinist was killed the night of the masquerade. All highly public places. Obviously, the killer would strike that night.

"Her target would have been someone that was well known to the cast. However, all of her targets were teenagers, with the exception of Jackie. That eliminated more than half of the cast. And she only killed teenage females who 'bragged' according to the killer. That left you, Christine.

"I pieced it together. Pink thread, a dancer, highly public spot, someone well known. That left Vouche on opening night, to kill Christine," Holmes finished. I nodded, and then started.

"Emily was one of the people holding the rope when it fell on the trumpet players!" I exclaimed, remembering that day. Christine smiled thinly, nodding.

"And she was the gypsy woman... I saw her near the crime scene, didn't think it relevant, though."

Holmes nodded and leaned back on the couch.

"Yes... she was quite obviously the killer. We should have realized it sooner. But we didn't," he murmured darkly. Christine joined in the sentiments. I rubbed my forehead.

"But we didn't, and we shouldn't stay stuck in the past. Come on, guys, if we keep reliving our stupid moments, then we'll never find Kline. She's alive, and she's out there somewhere. It's just going to take some hard work to find her. You really don't think that she didn't leave some clue lying about, do you?" I questioned incredulously. Christine sighed.

"Kline would have done her best to leave a trail. She's not foolish. But the truth of the matter is that I doubt she could have. I think that Emily would have knocked her unconscious. And how are we going to track her after all this time? One week? The clues will be gone, if there were any whatsoever. We're screwed, Jenny. Kline is as good as dead," she sighed, trying to restrain the anger and frustration she felt. I jumped to my feet, enraged.

"Look, Christine, if you're going to be such a gosh-darned pessimist, why don't you just go back to the States right now? Kline is dead, you're right, so just get your cowardly butt back to your nice little home. Then you wouldn't have to deal with any of this!" I shouted. Christine was on her feet in a second, staring me in the eyes.

"I am not a coward. Did it ever occur to you that I'm just not ready to romanticize the idea that Kline is alive, when she may not be? I am not going to get my hopes up for nothing! You haven't seen what happens to people when they do that," she bellowed. I sneered at her.

"You. Are. A. Filthy. Coward. You just want to save your own skin!" I shrieked. Christine slapped me, causing me to step back in shock. Her cheekbones had turned a bright red color, and she stared at me with utter vehemence.

"Bitch! Can you blame me for wanting to protect myself? I hope you burn in hell, Jenny. I really hope you do."

With that, Christine spun on her heel and walked out the door, slamming it behind her. I felt my anger melt away instantly, shocked that we had been fighting. I dashed over to the door and opened it, poking my head out.

"Christine? Come on back, I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! I don't know what's wrong with me!" I called out into the brisk night air. There was no answer, just a distinctive "Hah!" from further down the block. I sighed and shut the door, turning to lean against it. I saw Holmes staring at me from the couch. Running a hand through my hair, I sat down next to him, ready to cry. Holmes put a comforting arm around my shoulder, and I burst into tears.

"What is wrong with us, Holmes? Why are we changing all of a sudden? I just don't get it!" I sobbed, burying my face into his shoulder. 

"Shhh... come now, Watson, surely you can figure that out," he whispered in my ear. I looked at him in confusion. His sympathetic eyes met my tearstained ones, and I shook my head.

"She's furious at herself right now, not to mention Emily, Scotland Yard, and Kline. She doesn't have the capacity to reason. She isn't used to losing loved ones. Christine doesn't understand what is going on, and she doesn't want to. Was she the type of person who ignored the things that went wrong around her?" Holmes asked me. I nodded numbly.

"See? She doesn't want to face her problems right now, and at the same time she does. She's just very confused. How would you feel if your best friend and partner were captured by a girl who belonged in an insane asylum?"

I shrugged. If I lost Holmes, I would be heartbroken, angry, confused... my thoughts stopped instantly.

"And what about me? Why am I acting like a complete jerk?" I inquired. Holmes paused as he thought about it, his eyes shutting momentarily.

"You are just as distressed as she is. You do not want to face the possibility that she is dead, so you don't. You got angry at Christine because she was setting herself up for disappointment, and you just couldn't handle that right now. You want someone to tell you it will all be all right, that Kline is fine, and that life is great," Holmes told me. I sniffled and rubbed the water from my cheeks.

"So, who is right and who is wrong?"

"No one. You're both right, but you're both wrong. It's just that your personalities and coping abilities are so different, and you aren't compatible in those respects. It's understandable- don't beat yourself up for it."

I sighed and put my head on his chest, listening to his heart beat steadily, feeling his chest rise up and down, the hypnotic smell of his cologne. His hands moved gracefully over my still-wet hair, and I sighed again, content.

No contentment could last, though. An hour later, after Holmes and I had watched the ending to a particularly good movie, the door banged open again. Christine's form stood in the doorframe, clutching a piece of paper to her chest. Holmes and I stared at her as she stumbled into the house.

"She's- alive!" she exclaimed, trying desperately to take in a few breathes. The air rattled around in her lungs, and then she stumbled forward, handing the note to Holmes. He read it swiftly, and then handed it to me, his eyes glimmering.

If You Want Her, Come And Get Her. She's Alive. But Not For Much Longer.

I let out a cry of delight, and lunged for Christine, pulling her into a hug. She grabbed my shoulders, and we did a fairly bad waltz around the room, laughing and crying at the same time. Christine's eyes fairly sparkled.

"I'm sorry, Jenny," she whispered in my ear as we danced around the couch. I gave her an encouraging smile, and mouthed the same to her. She winked at me, and sat down on the couch, giving Holmes a quick peck on the cheek.

"Ah-hah! She is alive! She isn't dead yet, and we are going to save her sorry blond butt before she gets hurt," I crowed. Christine was busy humming a song of victory, and even Holmes looked ready to sing. Then his face got deadly serious, and he looked at Christine.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded. Christine looked at him lazily, her idiotic smile still plastered on her face.

"Somebody shoved it into my hand while I was walking by, and then jumped into a car. So, no, I didn't see the face. And I couldn't recognize the car if you asked me to."

Holmes nodded, and then rubbed his hands together.

"I guess that we have our work cut out for us."

Only one more chapter until the end! Review, or I don't update!

Also, I'm adding a few comments here at the end. My next story (it will be called: Sting of the Spider) is going to be extremely dark and will be rated R for fairly serious themes. I know, I know. I'm being a bad girl. But I decided my stories were way to bright and cheerful. Well, not really, but... everything's going to be dark for the next story.

Another change is that the murders are going to be secondary. And you will also know the murderer from the second or third chapter on. And, I have decided, half of the chapters will be done from Kline's POV. MUCH WILL BE CHANGED IN THE CHARACTERS DURING MY NEXT STORY! The characters are going to undergo a lot of development.

If you don't think you'll like this, tough. E-mail me your comments about this, at my new e-mail for ff.net. It's

cmoonrose@excite.com

Thanks much, and now onto the epilogue!


	11. Epilogue: From Her Eyes

Epilogue: From Her Eyes

Kline's POV:

My arms ached as I rubbed the rope that bound them against a splintered section of the chair I was strapped in. I heard footsteps go by my door swiftly, a few chuckles when the feet paused, and those perverted conversations that I never realized most criminals had. I was beginning to wonder if anybody in the creepy crime place I was stuck in was anything other than a rapist. Everyone seemed to be talking about sex, having 'fun' with me, and more sex. I was practically seething with disgust and anger as I rubbed my hands faster.

I had been stuck in that lousy chair for five days, forced into it after I threw a piece of glass at one of the perverted guards. It didn't really hurt him, but nooooo, they seemed to think that their little prisoner needed to be tied down. It would appear that my captors were smarter than they looked. And trust me, most of them looked pretty darn dumb.

The only good thing about my capture was that I had a fairly nice room, compared to the rest of the establishment. My cell had cement walls. There were four privacy windows, one shattered from my failed attempt of escape. Other than my chair, the only other piece of furniture was a crappy cot, which was way too small for me. I was a tall girl, after all. I deserved a queen sized bed at least. But, as it turned out, criminals weren't exactly the nicest people in the world. Major duh on my part.

The rapid clicking of shoes slowed as they passed my door, and then stopped. I sighed, expecting to hear some gross story from a guy about how he had grabbed a chick off the street. But, to my surprise, the only thing I heard was a laugh. People laughed at my door a lot, for some reason. It wasn't a funny door. I wasn't a funny victim. And I definitely wasn't funny looking. There was no reason for them to laugh.

I was completely going to ignore the annoying laughs, but then the door opened. As if my day could NOT have gotten worse. I was almost done with my ropes, too... three people walked in, one person in the center wearing Harry Potter style robes. I snorted at the person's apparel. The other two at least had some style. One would have been a really hot guy, but he completely spoiled his looks by a bunch of tattoos that covered most of his body. He had really nice muscles, though, and absolutely adorable eyes. The other would have been a pretty girl, except that her hair was lime green, up in some weird spikes, and she had a nose ring. I'm sorry, but yuck.

"Well, Miss Kline. I must say, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard much about you," the hooded figure purred. The voice was distinctively female, I noted needlessly. Raising an eyebrow, I smirked.

"Yeah, well. I'm sure that you've heard that I'm beautiful, brilliant, and have a cool blond butt? I have had many guys compliment me on my butt, oddly enough. They say it's cute... or have you heard that I'm the brains behind Christine and I? Because it's true, you know. Christine is a good actress- always passes herself off as smart- but I am everything in the team. She is a sidekick, really," I commented, acting way too arrogant. I always got that way when scared, for some reason.

"Is Christine your little friends name?"

"Yeah."

"Ah, then we shall take you to her gravestone sometime."

I swear, I felt my lung collapse at that precise second. It took me a few, but I managed to breath again soon enough.

"I beg your pardon, Professor McGonagall?" I asked, making a bleak reference to the HP books Christine was so fond of. The cloaked figure laughed.

"Ah, childish humor. Such a delight. What I mean to say is, your friend is quite dead by now. Emily has an excellent shot- if I am correct, Miss Christine has a bullet through her brain at the moment. A nice, large bullet. In fact- Fredrick, Amelia! The television!" McGonagall snapped. The two goons on her sides rushed out of the room, practically stumbling over each other to get out of the room.

"You really think Christine is dead? Then you really underestimate her, lady. Same with Sherlock and Jenny. They're really smart. They'll have caught Emily way before she could even pull that trigger. Christine is just fine..." I said, quelling my fear. 

"Ah, is precious Sherlock involved in this? I did not realize at first... what a delightful turn of events this is! I have wanted to meet him for such a long time..." the woman said. I rolled my eyes.

"Ah, shut up already."

Fredrick and Amelia returned right that second, carrying a fairly nice sized portable TV. They set it down and flipped it on, moving right to the news. I waited impatiently for the commercials to end, and then a preppy news reporter came on, in front of the theatre.

"And today we have to report the tragic shooting at this local theatre. Christine Penninger, an American, aged fifteen was shot at today by Miss Emily Vouche, aged nineteen. Thankfully, the only person hurt was a young man named Todd, I believe, who pushed Miss Penninger out of the way at the last possible second. He is in the hospital right now, in stable care.

"Miss Vouche, however, was not so lucky. Scotland Yard later found her in a storage closest, after committing suicide. We have no more facts at present, and we will keep you up-"

The woman snarled and picked up the TV, throwing it against the wall. I was fairly impressed by her strength- she looked wussy enough to me. After a few seconds of spitting in fury, she looked at me (I think, that darn hood was blocking my view).

"How utterly frustrating this is. I think we may have to keep you around for a little while longer," she snapped. I bit back an "I told you so" smile, and merely nodded.

"Hey, since I'm stickin' around for a while, mind if I know your name?" I asked casually. The woman laughed, her voice soaring into a pretty cool arpeggio, if I do say so myself.

"Certainly, dear child."

The woman leaned close to me, and then pulled back the hood of her costume. I winced automatically, looking away.

Her face was hideous, a mass of scars and burns. She had probably been a really pretty woman once, maybe an actress. But now... it was disgusting. She took my chin in her fingers and made me look at her, her eyes glinting maniacally.

"Marie Moriarty."

THE END


End file.
